


and we'll sail for ithaca

by orphan_account



Series: small towns for the homesick [2]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Adventure, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 00:37:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 72,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3431573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kyungsoo tries to find his way home. – Kyungsoo/Jongin</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **Title:** and we’ll sail for ithaca  
>  **Summary:** Kyungsoo tries to find his way home. – Kyungsoo/Jongin  
>  **Pairing:** Kyungsoo/Jongin  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Genre:** Romance, fluff, adventure, slice of life  
>  **Disclaimer:** I’m not rich enough to own a boy band *sobs*  
>  **Warnings:** Language, sexual themes, mentions of mental illnesses, no plot  
>  **Song choice:** The Great Escape – Patrick Watson  
>  **Author's Note:**
> 
>  **just eat up all the gray and it will all fade** \- Daljong-myeon and the whole of Gumseo Island are just loosely based on our actual hometown, so don’t try googling it. It’s all in my head.
> 
> This is so dumb. Read at your own risk.
> 
> Much thanks to Kim Jongin for providing the much needed inspiration:

****

 

**…**

_“Bye, bye, bye to all of the noise.”_

**…**

**[Prologue]**

 

…

It rains in summer.

 

Kyungsoo gets a whiff of an odd perfume from a tall lady wearing leather mid-calf boots and sneezes. The airport is packed and flowing with tourists coming from different nations, all bound for an adventure in Incheon. As they head to the subway station, Kyungsoo makes his way to a different direction.

 

The rain slithers down the glass windows like a gushing waterfall, and the downpour outside seems endless. Carting his trolley as he aimlessly searches for a place to sit in the terminal, Kyungsoo is five hours early for his flight to Busan. Before he left his apartment, Zitao had asked if Kyungsoo was that excited to fly to his hometown. He hadn’t answered outright, but if he had, he would say that Zitao was wrong. Kyungsoo is absolutely petrified.

 

He finds an empty seat after a few minutes and tries to fall asleep against the hard, plastic headrest. He waits until the GCA announces KE1405 through the intercom and trudges towards Gate 18. A stern-looking man is waiting to hand him his ticket.

 

Kyungsoo emerges from the tunnel and boards the plane to Busan. He dodges a few swings from an elderly couple struggling to shove their heavy luggage in their proper compartments and walks towards his seat at the end of the bus.

 

Thankfully, Kyungsoo gets the seat next to the window. He’s always preferred keeping himself as far away from the aisle as possible, where he’ll be less prone to bumping his head against the thighs of passengers scrambling for the lavatory. He bows politely to a burly teenager and his mother, and slowly inches his way to his seat.

 

After readjusting his lapels, Kyungsoo rechecks his wallet and calculates how much the ferry to Gumseo-do will cost.

 

…


	2. 1/2

…

**[1/2]**

 

…

 

 

The funeral had been a sordid affair. Jongin had rallied against the thick crowd of spectators gathering around Do Minhyuk’s casket, earned a couple of scratches on his arms in the process, and yelled himself hoarse by the end of the procession. It took three hours for the body to be carried to the local cemetery stationed at the lonely hill of Ubi, which otherwise would have taken only forty-five minutes by foot.

 

“You can always take a break, Jongin-ah,” Minseok tells him when he sees the younger boy at the daechong, cradling his head in exhaustion. “Have a warm bath in the sauna room. I’m sure the old man won’t forsake you that, at least.”

 

Following his hyung’s suggestion, Jongin heads to the sauna. After rubbing his skin raw with rock parsley, Jongin lets himself sink in the tub, coating soothing bubbles over his reddening flesh. He lets the mist cloud his vision for a minute before closing his eyes.

 

He had been dreading this moment ever since Do Minhyuk fainted next to the rice wagon. No doctor, no apothecary was able to save the proud silk merchant. For Jongin, fifty-eight seems like an unreasonable age for Minhyuk to die. It’ll never cease to terrify him, how something as tiny as a capillary popping inside a brain can make all the difference in the world.

 

“Deep thoughts we’re having down there.” It’s Yifan, one of the workers who help rear the silkworms in the shed around the back. Jongin hadn’t heard him come in. “I bet your ass is as red as your face – how long have you been soaking?”

 

Jongin rubs his mist-glazed eyes and shrugs. “How’s your wife?” Yifan is married to a pretty lady named Qian, one of the town’s textile weavers. It’s been a week since he last saw her – Jongin had been too preoccupied with the funeral arrangements to see how she was doing, he realizes. 

 

Yifan can’t fight the frown from forming on his expression. “She wants me to apologize for her for not being able to attend the funeral.”

 

“What the heck is she saying? She’s sick,” Jongin points out. “Of course she can’t go.”

 

Yifan sighs in ascent and sits on the dry mat near the rim of the tub. His toenails are etched with baked mud and grime, and his skin is turning into an interesting shade of golden brown. “Still. It was hyungnim’s funeral.”

 

Jongin lets out a sigh. “It was a good thing she didn’t come. She would’ve fainted back there.”

 

“Everyone was going crazy,” Yifan agrees. “There’s only one person I saw who looked remotely sane. Minhyuk’s kid – Kyungsoo, was it?”

 

Jongin nods. He’d seen Minhyuk’s son at the beginning of the procession – young, probably only a few years older than him. Nervous and unsure. He’d watched as the man stayed behind his father’s casket instead of leading the whole procession to the plot at Ubi, his gaze fixed on the rough path beneath them.

 

“I don’t know what hyungnim was thinking, lumbering his entire estate to his estranged son.” Jongin exhales tiredly. He runs an agitated hand through his mop of dark, wet hair. “He’s basically an outsider. The whole town wants to know if we can trust him.”

 

Yifan shrugs. “Well, he can speak dialect. That’s a start.” He unbuttons his boiler suit to alleviate the heat coming from the steam, spreading out his legs in a ‘v’. It takes him more than a minute to speak. “Do Kyungsoo-ssi’s in his father’s room, clearing out some of his stuff. I told him he can stay there.”

 

Jongin turns to stare at him. “Why would you do that?” he asks.

 

“Whether we like it or not, he’s in charge now.” Yifan shrugs again. “Besides, the old man’s den is long overdue for some scrubbing. You might want to assist him in carrying that huge trunk of conch shells his father keeps underneath the bed.”

 

“Is that your special way of telling me to scram?” Jongin says, slightly amused. He makes a grab for the towel hanging on the nearby stainless rack and slips out of the tub, causing a small splash of warm water to spread all over the wooden floor. He slips on his work pants and shoes.

 

Yifan lets out a deep, throaty chuckle. “Be a sweetheart and hand me that loofah, would you? My skin needs a bit of exfoliating.”

 

Jongin mock scowls and throws him a loofah from the topmost shelf. He snickers as Yifan cries a few curse words at him, sliding the doors close. 

 

The whole Do mansion is a hanokpilgrimage of the town of Daljong. The roof tiles slope down in a perfect cone like Mt. Iwa, the active volcano that towers over the four sleepy towns of Gumseo, and the timber posts are ancient yet strong against the thousand elements. The house has seen a hundred storms, endured a dozen earthquakes and other calamities. It stands proud in the middle of a vast paddy field, surrounded by tall hedges and simple thatched houses. For the townsfolk, the mansion has always been known as a symbol of resilience and resourcefulness.

 

As a testament to its old age, the floorboards sometimes creak when Jongin’s foot applies the slightest pressure on them. He now traipses down the wooden corridors and knocks on a pair of sliding doors at the last room of the hallway.

 

The door opens, and Jongin is greeted by a pair of wide eyes magnified by broad-rimmed spectacles.

 

“Hello,” the man, Kyungsoo, greets quietly. His expression is fairly neutral, but his eyes are fixated on Jongin’s face rather curiously, like he knows that he’s seen him somewhere but could not remember when. 

 

This isn’t the first time Jongin’s seen Kyungsoo – he was one of those who had helped unload his bags from the ferry. He remembers thinking that Kyungsoo looked terribly familiar too, before Minseok had nudged him hard from his trance. Jongin decided to chalk it up to the fact that Kyungsoo was Minhyuk’s son, even though they didn’t look anything alike.

 

He gives him a deep bow. “I’m Kim Jongin. I’m –” He bites his lip. Jongin doesn’t know what to call himself. “I was your dad’s –”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” Kyungsoo says, looking at him from under his fringe and giving him a tiny smile. Jongin unconsciously takes a step back, surprised at this simple gesture.

 

Jongin swallows. “Would you – would you like some help carrying things?”

 

Kyungsoo doesn’t say anything in return this time but nods, sliding the door wider to let Jongin in. He stands to the side, watching as Kyungsoo fold the bedcovers into neat squares above the mattress and lays down a couple of dusty books from the cupboards. Jongin sees a clipping ripped out of a history book on the table, and silently reads:

 

_Silk had been produced purely by accident by the Empress Hsi-Ling-Shih, wife of the Yellow Emperor Huang-Ti, more than four thousand years ago. For many months, the Yellow Emperor stood in front of his mulberry garden, wondering how the trees had been steadily losing their lushness, and the discovery of silk began when his wife decided to investigate. She noticed tiny white worms crawling in and out of the bushes, feasting and boring hundreds of holes on the leaves. She took the cocoons and dipped them in a tub of hot water with the intention of boiling them alive, but instead she saw that the cocoons had separated into a fine thread we now call as silk. She wove the half mile-long thread into a fine robe for her husband, the first article of clothing in history to be known as purely made out of silk._

He hears a loud clanging from behind and sees Kyungsoo dragging the chest underneath the bed with much effort. Jongin rushes over to help, heaving along with him. Together they manage to retrieve the chest, and with a curt mutter of thanks, Kyungsoo takes off the lid peppered with dust.

 

Jongin stands aside again. He studies the man’s profile as he removes the contents.

 

Do Kyungsoo is all slender bones and pale skin, a huge contrast to Do Minhyuk’s broad-shouldered stature and deeply tanned skin, features that the merchant shared with Jongin along with the rest of the workers in the manor. He watches as Kyungsoo slightly tilts his head to the side, his unusually plump lips curling contemplatively as he holds up an array of conch shells in a heavy glass casing, and the simple action reminds Jongin of a puppy he used to keep back at the orphanage, harmless and a bit child-like. It strikes him odd that the heir to the business is as unimpressive-looking as a garden spurge that grows along the serpentine paths of their yard.

 

He then realizes with a jolt that he’s been staring at him for too long. Kyungsoo is looking back at him, straight-faced, a thick eyebrow raised like a question.

 

Jongin coughs to quell his embarrassment.

 

“What should I do with these?” Kyungsoo asks him. He gestures at the conch shells.

 

Jongin frowns at them at first, and then at Kyungsoo. “I don’t know. What did your father say?”

 

Kyungsoo pushes back his glasses, saying, “I haven’t spoken to my father since I was six.”

 

“Oh. Right,” Jongin breathes out after a moment of feeling lost. He watches Kyungsoo with careful eyes, and just like before, Kyungsoo watches him back without saying a word. It’s somewhat an unnerving experience – Jongin feels like he’s being turned inside out. “Umm, okay,” he says finally. “Do whatever you want with them, I guess.”

 

Kyungsoo nods imperceptibly and places the conch shells on the second shelf. He wipes off the dust that has gathered around the casing with a worn piece of cloth. He then settles a heavy gaze on his father’s collection for a brief moment before reorganizing the stacks of trade manuals by size, thickness, and volume number, making sure that his hands are doing something while his thoughts are drifting off to somewhere Jongin can’t place.

 

Jongin thinks he looks rather dumb, standing by the doorway and doing nothing. “Is there anything else I could help you with, Kyungsoo-ssi?”

 

“I’m fine now,” Kyungsoo mutters. He’s off rummaging the chest again with scary precision. Jongin takes a mental note of this tic. “You can sit down if you’d like. You must be tired.”

 

“No – I’m fine too,” Jongin argues. He thinks back to the man in a black suit and defeated eyes following the procession with slow, burdened steps. If anyone should be tired, it would be him.

 

“I’m sorry,” Jongin says after a while. He stops himself from pulling on the hem of his shirt; Minseok always told him off for fidgeting and making his discomfort obvious to every stranger he met. “This must be a lot for you to take in.”

 

Kyungsoo gives him a slightly bemused look. “Why are you apologizing?” he asks rhetorically, his lips curling down just the tiniest bit. “I should be the one who’s apologizing. I’m sorry if I’m being a burden. I haven’t been here for so long that I don’t know what to do,” he admits. “I’ve almost forgotten about this place.”

 

“That’s fine. Not a lot of people would want to stay, anyway,” Jongin says, and Kyungsoo looks at him funny, so he continues, “It’s because living here is actually pretty simple – maybe _too_ simple. I guess it’s going to take a while for you to get used to since you’ve been living in the city for so long.”

 

Kyungsoo sits on the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight. He places his hands on his lap, his eyes thoughtful. “You’ve been my father’s attendant for how many years?” he asks suddenly.

 

“Only for a year,” Jongin replies in a heartbeat. “I was just a regular orphan kid stirring up trouble in the marketplace with a bunch of friends. Mom– I mean, Yoorae, the head maid, found me as a baby and sent me to the orphanage, and then your father took me in when I was five or so, after I almost got a beating in the square for stealing a packet of pigskin from Mrs. Han.”

 

Kyungsoo eyes him a bit curiously, but doesn’t say anything after that.

 

Jongin gulps, clearing his itching throat twice. “Is there anything you’d like, Kyungsoo ssi? A warm bath or something? I can show you around the house if you’d like.”

 

“No, that’s alright.” Kyungsoo settles with watching the mountainous terrain over the window, and Jongin thinks it’s time for him to leave. He bows and turns the lock of the door, and Kyungsoo doesn’t come out of the room the whole night. Jongin leaves dinner on his doorstep, hoping the man likes overcooked tuna.

 

…

 

Minseok is chewing tobacco by the time Jongin arrives at the patio. The younger hands him a water bottle ripped in half, and Minseok spits out the green-black residue at the butt end. Jongin rolls his eyes.

 

“You’d love it if it was orange flavored,” Minseok jeers. He scrunches up his sleeves up to his elbows and folds the torn edges of his washed out jeans. Jongin can make out the thousands of scorch marks on his arms from cleaning up the fireplace.

 

“Orange flavored or not, it’s bad for you,” Jongin reminds him for the nth time. “Look at your teeth, hyung.”

 

Minseok cocks an eyebrow at him, amused. “What? It’s not like I’m going to be kissing girls anytime soon. Not that we’re having a shortage around here.” He juts out his chin to point at the houses up north, where the village weavers reside. “You could use some smooching, though. You’re getting crankier every time I see you. Why the hell are you even sleeping so late?”

 

“Sooyoung’s kid had me tutor her in Math, and when I was looking over my old textbook I came across this one problem I couldn’t solve. Got my attention the whole night,” Jongin says, shrugging. He was practicing on a trigonometry book he had and fell asleep on his table with his lamplight blazing, attracting all kinds of insects in his room. He woke up at five with just enough time to freshen up and cook Kyungsoo his breakfast, though it seems that the man had already left the manor for a morning walk around town. Jongin’s glad that at least Kyungsoo ate his dinner sometime last night.

 

“The extreme shit you do for fun.” Minseok exhales, shooting another wad of tobacco on his makeshift spittoon. “You can still make it, you know. For the second time around. You’re a smart kid.”

 

Jongin makes a strange noise at the back of his throat. Minseok laughs at Jongin’s natural reaction to such praises, and changes the subject for him. “How’s Minhyuk’s kid?”

 

Jongin looks back on their brief conversation yesterday and says, “He’s fine, I guess. Not really much of a talker.”

 

“That’s strange. Minhyuk would yap off the ear of anyone who could afford to listen to his lecture about silk and the finer things in life,” Minseok tells him, chuckling as he reminisces a little. “Kyungsoo must take after his mom. That woman’s an ice queen if there ever was one.”

 

“You know his mom?”

 

“Just met her when I was a kid. Too young to remember her exact face, but old enough to remember what happened,” Minseok explains. A cloud suddenly passes over his expression, and Jongin almost interrupts him by asking him if he’s okay.

 

Minseok covers his eyes from the sudden ray of sunlight when the clouds roll over. “She had wrists as thin as twigs, but scary. I remember the big fight that happened over the living room. She was sick of the constant smell of wood rotting everywhere and the torrential rain, and she said… some things. Minhyuk couldn’t reason over his own wife not to leave the island. Her decision was final, and she took Kyungsoo with her.”

 

So that was the story. “Was she from the city?”

 

Minseok flashes him a thin smile, telling Jongin he’s far off the mark.

 

“How many times have I pictured myself getting out of this place?” he changes the subject and asks to no one in particular. “Thought I could hijack a shipping boat from the docks, or ski jet my way out of this island. Or maybe I could do it in a less grandiose way, you know? Just buy myself a ferry ticket and leave.” Minseok exhales, laughing a little. “I guess I never was as ambitious as Kyungsoo’s mother. I couldn’t see a future for me anywhere but here.”

 

Jongin gives him a sidelong glance. Minseok’s expression doesn’t betray any lingering sadness, but he can tell that there’s still something. He hesitates, asking, “You don’t want to try again, hyung?”

 

Minseok shakes his head, then grins. “And leave my favorite kid behind?” He grabs the back of Jongin’s neck and puts him in a playful headlock, ruffling his hair. “No way, dude. I’m staying. Who knows what kind of trouble you’d stir while I’m away.”

 

He’s heard Minseok say that already a hundred times, but Jongin can’t help but feel relief wash over him, and it makes him feel guilty too. He and Minseok have always looked out for each other, and with Minhyuk constantly offering them guidance and giving them a home when their parents had both abandoned them, Jongin felt a bond stronger than friendship.

 

“What’s he up to right now?” he questions, and it takes a second for Jongin to realize that Minseok’s talking about Kyungsoo.

 

“He was not in his room when I came to bring him breakfast,” Jongin says. “Yifan told him to use his father’s quarters, and when I checked on it this morning it was honestly the cleanest I’ve ever seen it. You think Kyungsoo’s mom raised him as a neat freak or something?”

 

“Maybe,” Minseok responds in a roundabout tone. “Or it could just be natural. Just another disparity to add to the growing list of differences with us countryfolk.”

 

“Hey, you’re one of the neatest persons I know. You’re probably the neatest person in Korea,” Jongin argues. “I think Kyungsoo’s just… neurotic.”

 

Minseok guffaws freely. “It’s only been one day and you’re already nitpicking on the poor guy’s cleaning habits. The father he’s been estranged to for more than twenty years just died, and he has no idea what he’s going to do with the whole estate he’s been left with. Kyungsoo’s obviously distressed. You should take him around the island for some fresh air.”

 

“I told you, he’s been out since this morning.” Jongin sighs. “He’s probably roaming around the paths right now.”

 

Minseok eyes him strangely. He pinches him on the arm. “You think that’s alright? It’s not a big area, but he might get lost.”

 

“He’s older than me, hyung. He knows how to ask for directions.”

 

“The locals will scare him,” Minseok reasons, and Jongin knows he’s right. Taciturn Kyungsoo will probably be bombarded with inquiries about his life, although it’s neither his nor the villagers’ fault. Even Jongin has to admit that he’s slightly curious.

 

“Wait for him at the front gate, Jongin,” Minseok instructs. “Make sure he gets home before the sun goes down. And if he doesn’t, just call for me and we’ll search for him around town.”

 

“I don’t think he’ll be that far,” Jongin grumbles, but Minseok squeezes his shoulder lightly and gives him a steady look.

 

Minseok says, “Look. I know you feel a bit awkward towards Kyungsoo, but you should help him. Remember how it feels to be the new guy in the city?”

 

Jongin nods, his lower lip jutting a little, and Minseok smiles.

 

“Do Minhyuk always treated us like we were his sons, and we can return the favor by helping Kyungsoo out. You don’t have to like him. Just make sure that he feels comfortable here, okay?” He gives a Jongin a big pat on the back before adding, “He’s not going to sell this place, Jongin, if that’s what you’re scared of. Kyungsoo might not be as sunny as his dad, but believe me, I don’t think he’s going to hand it over to some land converter or something. This is his home too, you know.”

 

Jongin chews on his bottom lip. “He’s so… _shy_.”

 

“Aww, Jonginnie,” Minseok coos. “Between the two of you, I think you’re really the shy one. He’s just not used to talking to other people – there’s a difference. So just ease up on him a little. Besides, don’t you find Kyungsoo a bit cute?” 

 

Jongin splutters as Minseok laughs and ruffles his hair before leaving him on the patio to tend to the boilers.

 

…

 

Jongin waits for him at the gazebo. Kyungsoo comes in by the front gate carrying a hand-woven bag filled with god knows what and wearing a navy blue hoodie and black track pants, which is kind of wise if he wanted to stroll around the marketplace without being noticed.

 

Jongin notes the expensive-looking sneakers with hints of grass blades sticking at the sides. He considers lending Kyungsoo his sandals but quickly dismisses the idea. Kyungsoo’s feet are probably two sizes shorter, anyway.

 

He steps out of the gazebo and waves. “Hi,” Jongin greets as warmly as he can. Kyungsoo’s eyes widen a little, like he wasn’t expecting for anyone to be there by the front gate, but quickly recovers. His expression slips back to utter indifference, though his face is still flushed from the trek.

 

Jongin eyes the bag. “You brought groceries?”

 

“I thought I should cook for dinner,” Kyungsoo says. “Your tuna was burnt at the belly part.”

 

He says it all so bluntly that it leaves Jongin with no time to be offended. “Sorry,” he says. “The cook wasn’t feeling well so I made you dinner instead. Well, I tried to. I also brought you breakfast, but you were already out this morning.”

 

“Oh. Um, thank you,” Kyungsoo mumbles. He takes off his grubby shoes and opens the sliding doors, walking towards the direction of the kitchen while Jongin follows silently behind. He unzips his hoodie and wraps it around his waist, revealing a plain white t-shirt.

 

Jongin watches as Kyungsoo makes quick work with the stove and hands him a couple of pans inside the cabinets that are quite out of the man’s reach. Kyungsoo mumbles another quiet ‘thank you’ and begins slicing the tomatoes.

 

“It took a while for you to get back,” Jongin says. He hopes he doesn’t sound as prying as he feels. It’s already five in the afternoon, and the public marketplace is only an hour walk from the manor. Kyungsoo had been gone since the crack of dawn.

 

“I got lost,” Kyungsoo admits, confirming Minseok’s prediction. He avoids Jongin’s eyes and places the sliced tomatoes in the boiling pot filled with water. Jongin can tell he’s still shy about being new to the island, the outsider that has become the fixation of the whole village. “The people are nice, though.” He continues peeling off the skin from the potatoes. “They gave me directions.”

 

Jongin nods a bit awkwardly. Looking at Kyungsoo’s humped shoulders makes him really uncomfortable. He doesn’t understand why he feels that among other things, but he wants to pick him up and give him a hug. It’d probably be easy to do since Kyungsoo is such a magnificently tiny person – but it’d be silly if he acted on that instinct. They’re practically strangers.

 

It’s the first time he notices a sad pucker hanging on Kyungsoo’s lips when he looks closely. Jongin swallows the awful bubbling in his throat and washes his hands before drying them off with a towel.

 

The pork cutlets are already softening as the stew gives off a mouthwatering aroma. Jongin inches a little closer to Kyungsoo and helps him slice the bell peppers, dumping them afterwards into the pot. He observes as the black-haired boy does a little taste test every few minutes, adding a few pinches of spice and salt whenever he wrinkles his nose.

 

“Will there be anyone eating with us?” Kyungsoo asks suddenly.

 

Jongin shakes his head. “The workers have already gone home, and Minseok hyung and the maids are away for the night, so it’s just us two.”

 

Kyungsoo nods and takes two dishes from the washer. He sets a table for two inside the kitchen instead of at the long table at the dining pavilion, where Minhyuk usually dined for dinner. Jongin wants to point out that the kitchen table is only used by the workers and the other servants, but he then thinks better of it. He helps pour the steaming savory pork stew on a bowl.

 

They eat mostly in silence. Jongin knows he’s pretty bad at talking to strangers, but this situation is probably reaching to an extent where Minseok would scold him for being rude. He wants to say a few words to him, to chat like normal people, but Kyungsoo seems just as closed off like yesterday. It doesn’t help that Jongin feels like chickening out whenever he tries to open a conversation and Kyungsoo pins him down with his stare, looking at him with an odd expression on his face.

 

They wash the dishes, also in silence, bumping elbows every now and then, and Jongin has to resist from jumping ten feet up in the air. Jongin gets the impression that Kyungsoo doesn’t seem to react to him as strongly as he does – in fact, it seems that to him, Jongin isn’t even there at all. He’s not at all sure if he feels relieved or upset about this.

 

After all the dishes are dried, Kyungsoo is about to retreat back to his room when Jongin stops him, “Hey. Umm, wait a second.”

 

“Yeah?” There’s that sad pucker again, and Jongin’s hand itches to smooth it out with his thumb.

 

Jongin balls his hands into fists and gulps. “Let me show you around the island tomorrow,” he says. “So you won’t get lost again.”

 

Kyungsoo then turns to look at someone behind his shoulder, though Jongin’s sure there’s no one there. “Is that okay?” He tugs on the cuff of his hoodie. “Would I be bothering you?”

 

“No, not at all. And it’s actually Minseok hyung’s idea. The island can be a maze when you have no idea where you’re going.” _And you shouldn’t be exploring the place alone,_ Jongin supplies in his head, but doesn’t say aloud. Even though there’s a good amount of people stretched all over the island, Gumseo-do can still make him feel lonely sometimes.

 

Kyungsoo appears to be thinking about it; Jongin waits. “Okay,” Kyungsoo says finally with a nod. He starts unlocking the door to his room. “Should I bring anything?”

 

“I don’t think your Nikes would fare well against the mud if we’re going trekking,” Jongin says lightly. “You can borrow Minseok hyung’s boots. He’s just around your size.”

 

Kyungsoo nods, finally looking at him in the eye. His shoulders have eased up a bit, and Jongin smiles at this. “We’ll be walking a lot?” Kyungsoo asks.

 

“If you want.” Jongin considers taking him to the lake at the center of the forest; he hopes Kyungsoo likes fishing as much as his dad did. Minhyuk took Jongin fishing a lot of times since he was in primary school. “I think I should show you all the best places in Gumseo-do first then take you around the towns later. There are a lot of things to see here. We’ll probably bump into a few strangers along the way. I hope you’re not allergic to tourists.”

 

This earns an unexpected laugh from Kyungsoo, looking up at him with a smile. Jongin notices the pretty crinkle his eyes make when he laughs, and it’s familiar, the way his heart makes an embarrassingly loud _ga-glump_. “That’s fine. I’ve bumped into tourists when I stayed in Myeong-dong before, so I’m sure I’ll survive.”

 

Jongin wants to ask what kind of things he did in Seoul, but decides to box his curiosity for a while and let Kyungsoo rest. It’s going to be a long day ahead of them – he’ll probably have enough time to sneak in a few questions if he chalks up enough courage to ask them.

 

Jongin beams, feeling a bit lightheaded at the swelling inside his chest. “I’ll see you tomorrow then. Good night.”

 

Kyungsoo gives him a tiny wave. “Good night, Jongin-ssi.” He closes the door behind him.

 

…

 

 

Jongin wakes up to the sound of women calling after one another, and a thin ray of sunlight permeates through the daisy-yellow curtains. With a lazy hand, he props himself up and peeks through the windows. The weavers must be getting ready to thread the newly collected silk Jongin had hung over the drying racks near the gazebo.

 

He takes it as his cue to get up, and then realizes with a hiss that he should be off preparing for the trip with Kyungsoo. He leaps towards the bathroom and takes a quick shower, before bounding to the alcove with a dark green cap under his arm.

 

Jongin backtracks in front of the kitchen when he hears the familiar clatter of dishes, his jaw dropping. Kyungsoo is already dressed in parachute pants and a black shirt, and is rearranging the table mats under the plates. There’s a purple rucksack seated on a chair across from him.

 

Kyungsoo looks so well-put this morning. Jongin tries his best to flatten his hair with his fingers.

 

“Oh, hey. You’re up already,” he says, his voice croaking like it always does first thing in the morning. He can smell the strong aroma of coffee coming from the steam over Kyungsoo’s mug. Jongin likes coffee enough, but he can’t stand the dark stuff Minhyuk always asked to be made for him.

 

Kyungsoo points at the deviled eggs. “I made breakfast and packed sandwiches for the trip,” he says. “You said it’d be a day trip, right?”

 

Jongin’s jaw drops again, but no sound comes out. It strikes him odd that Kyungsoo made sandwiches. Sandwiches are so normal.

 

He shakes his head to clear out his thoughts. “That’s great, but we’ll also need worms.”

 

Kyungsoo freezes on his seat. “… Worms? For what?”

 

He’s clearly not fully awake yet. Jongin shakes his head again in chagrin. “Just regular earthworms,” he explains. “We’re going fishing today, Kyungsoo-ssi.  There’s a lake in the forest of Dai. Seomjung Lake. It’s packed in the summer when the tourists come and visit, but it’s late August so it’s almost cleared out. If we hike up north for a few miles we’ll get to see the falls near the fields of sumacs. I used to go up there and swim with my friends when we were kids.”

 

There’s a quirk at one end of Kyungsoo’s lips. “Sounds like an adventure,” he says. “Have some breakfast first, Jongin-ssi, then we’ll boot.”

 

After eating, Jongin asks for Yifan and Sehun’s help to retrieve the canister half-filled with both dried and live earthworms from the tool shed. Kyungsoo is waiting for him at the front gate with his rucksack slung on one shoulder. Minseok had already called dibs on the jeep, so Kyungsoo and Jongin have to walk four miles to the hills.

 

The heavy rain from last week has almost dried, so the path isn’t as slick as Jongin had initially feared. The mud is almost baked into a solid pavement that Kyungsoo can easily follow without getting blisters from the beat-up boots he borrowed from Minseok.

 

Despite the weight of the rucksack and the equipment, Jongin hasn’t heard any quip or complaint from the other man the whole trek. He’s already predicted that he’s not that type of person, but Jongin can’t help but be on a lookout for any signs of trouble. He hates feeling useless the most.

 

“You can see Mt. Iwa more clearly from here,” Jongin announces when they arrive at the logging path. Jongin used to fly kites with Minseok when they were teenagers here, or sometimes have picnics with the rest of the crew, admiring the smooth sloping of the volcano from below. “And over there’s the forest.” He points at the trees ahead of the clearing. “This forest was burned down when Mt. Iwa erupted in the 1910s. While World War I was raging, the people of Gumseo were having their own battle with nature here.”

 

He slows his pace so that Kyungsoo will be in front of him as they cross the path littered with sharp-edged rocks. From behind, Jongin is suddenly stricken by the way Kyungsoo walks, with the unhurried stride and the low arch of his neck. It looks familiar, with reasons Jongin can’t comprehend.

 

Kyungsoo pokes at the earth with the edge of his boot. “The earth is fertile now, though, after a century. Look at the grass. It’s very green – like an alien.”

 

Jongin’s loud chortle seems to startle Kyungsoo a bit. “That’s an apt description,” He grins. “You watch a lot of E.T. movies?”

 

Kyungsoo blushes to the roots of his hair, and Jongin can’t help but laugh a bit harder. “I’m a fan,” Kyungsoo confesses, realizing he can’t circumvent the conversation. “I’ve always liked watching movies since I was young.”

 

“I’ve never been inside a movie house before. I wonder what it’s like,” Jongin says easily, and Kyungsoo stares at him, unable to mask his disbelief. 

 

“You’ve never been inside a cinema?” Kyungsoo questions.

 

Jongin nods. They’re almost at the opening of the path leading to the heart of the forest. Jongin clears off a couple of cobwebs that cling onto the vines circling near the canopy. “I didn’t have a chance to get around while I was doing stuff in Seoul, and I was in the barracks the whole time in Busan. You know, for military.”

 

Kyungsoo makes an understanding hum from the back of his throat. “It’s basically just a black room that has rows of cushiony seats with cup-holders and everything. The surround system is great and the screen is so big that you feel very tiny, but it also feels like you’re part of the story too,” he says, and Jongin watches as Kyungsoo’s tightly pursed lips soften. 

 

“Remind me then to take you there sometime,” Kyungsoo tells him, flashing him a toothy grin without warning, and Jongin blushes. “It’s one of my favorite places.”

 

Jongin runs his free hand through his hair and returns the smile. “Yeah, I can tell,” he says as he bathes on the warmth from Kyungsoo’s happy gaze. “Back here, all we have is good ol’ fashioned television. There was that time when we watched the baseball championships back in 2012. I was in high school, I think. All of your dad’s men were crouched in front of the TV in the living room, eating chicken and drinking beer.” He laughs. “It was fun when the whole village exploded in cheers when Hyun Jinryu won the gold medal –” Jongin stops when he hears Kyungsoo chuckle softly beside him.

 

He turns to look at him and realizes that Kyungsoo’s mouth forms a strange heart shape when he smiles. Jongin thinks it looks particularly nice on him.

 

“In Gwanghwamun,” Kyungsoo narrates, his eyes trained at the patches of sunbeams on the forest floor. “Sometimes the TV stations sponsor free screenings of the games. They set up huge LCDs in the middle of the streets, and people gather around to watch. I’ve never stopped to watch one, though, but the people are all cheering and bouncing around and having fun. I guess people throw parties in the same way, just in different places,” he says, finishing with a small smile.

 

They begin sloping down the terrain as the shafts of aspen and birch thin. Jongin grabs Kyungsoo’s hand and helps him down.

 

“What do you do in the city, Kyungsoo-ssi?” Jongin asks. He swings his foot forward over a big, rotting log, and watches as Kyungsoo does the same.

 

It takes some time before Kyungsoo can answer. “I work in advertising,” he says. Jongin waits for Kyungsoo to elaborate, but it seems that he won’t be saying anything more.

 

Kyungsoo suddenly pauses as if he’s heard something, and then shakes his head when he realizes that Jongin hadn’t spoken. His eyes glaze all over the tree trunks warily and sets off.

 

The creaks and croaks of the woodland creatures are starting to make Jongin anxious. He tries to think of a something else to say. “You stayed in Insa-dong, right? What’s it like?”

 

“Boring,” Kyungsoo pipes instantly, and Jongin grins. Across the treetops, he can already spot waxwing nests; only a few minutes more and they’ll be arriving at Seomjung. “But everything you need is there so you’d live. Do you know someone from Jongno-gu?”

 

“Not really. My mom and dad used to work under your dad, but they left me here and took off to Seoul,” Jongin says, and then frowns. He’s not supposed to be telling that story.

 

“Oh,” Kyungsoo hums, before pursing his lips. “Are your parents… do they still contact you?”

 

Jongin shrugs. “Never heard from them for twenty three years.” He thinks of Kyungsoo and his father and gives his companion a sheepish grin. “I’m okay, though. They left so long ago that I don’t exactly remember them.”

 

“Have you ever wanted to see them?”

 

“I don’t know. Maybe?” He pauses and nudges Kyungsoo, telling him to look ahead. Around the charcoal skeleton of trees and the blue-green grass there’s water – a lake, its shoreline long and irregular. The whole place is deserted except for the caretaker named Jung Jongil, who’s snoring away inside his hut. Some of the birds are diving over the lake, swooping for the insects that hover. The thick wooden post that says _Seomjung Lake [1922]_ is balanced by the huge rocks.

 

Kyungsoo digs his camera from his rucksack and takes a picture. It’s the most enthusiastic he’s ever seen him. Jongin grins to himself, thinking that it really was a good idea to bring him down here first.

 

“See that guy over there?” Jongin whispers, pointing at the napping man. “That’s Jung Jongil – a lot of the people here have Jungs as their surname and some of them have Jongil as their first names, so we locals call him Screecher.”

 

“Beautiful name,” Kyungsoo remarks dryly, pocketing his camera, and Jongin looks at him sideways as his grin grows wider. “I suppose the moniker comes with an excellent backstory.”

 

“Me and my friends back in the orphanage used to sneak around his hut when we were kids so we could play. But sometimes we got caught, and his melodious yelling and foot stomping could be heard within a three hundred feet radius,” Jongin says. They cross the rotting wooden gates and walk over to the stilt house. Jongin taps the opening yard to wake up the caretaker. Screecher gives him a bleary glare before helping them with unraveling the ropes on their rental boat.

 

Jongin first hops on the boat and assists a wobbling Kyungsoo. He holds him by the arms and presses him to the other end. Kyungsoo flashes him another grin as thanks. It’s so sudden that it catches Jongin off guard for a moment, making him blush for the second time today. He’s still not used to seeing Kyungsoo smile.

 

They row and row until they’re near the center of the lake. It’s almost midday, and the sun is shining bleakly in the middle of the sky. It’s not as hot as it used to be, Jongin thinks, which is good. Kyungsoo’s pale skin might be too sensitive for the heat.

 

“Worm time!” Jongin brings out the worms from the canister and spears each of them with a fish hook stashed inside the compartment of the boat.

 

Kyungsoo looks a bit disgusted for a second before following his lead, pinching a squiggling worm with two of his fingers.

 

“We don’t have a container for the fishes,” he wisely points out, still grimacing at the worms. Jongin can’t help but chuckle at his put-out expression.

 

Jongin leans further on his seat and throws the line. It lands first on the skin of the lake with a quiet plop, before sinking under the weight of the fish hook. “We’ll just throw them back,” he says. “If we ever catch any, that is.”

 

Kyungsoo nods in understanding and throws his own line. It covers an embarrassingly shorter distance than Jongin’s, though he doesn’t seem all too perturbed over this. He goes back to his seat and studies the clear line of the woods, silently taking a picture with his camera.

 

Jongin would be lying if he said he didn’t sneak a couple of glances to the person beside him. Kyungsoo’s expression is unreadable as always, but he seems to be enjoying the stillness of the lake.

 

He hasn’t been here to Seomjung to fish ever since he was eighteen. He used to seek the underbrush of calmness Seomjung Lake brings when he was younger, only it got too depressing for him to fully appreciate the experience alone. He likes being away from the festive streams of chatter in the town from time to time, but being on his own also left his mind free to wander to awful places.

 

Suddenly, Jongin’s stomach rumbles. A familiar, ghostly chuckle escapes from Kyungsoo’s lips, and he hands him a sandwich and a small bottle of hand sanitizer from the rucksack.

 

“Your stomach is putting Screecher-ssi to shame,” Kyungsoo says. “Have some lunch.”

 

Jongin laughs, thanking him. “Aren’t you hungry, Kyungsoo-ssi?”

 

“The coffee of this town has made me strangely full,” Kyungsoo tells him with a confounded look. “I’ve never had a blend like that before, but it feels like I’ve eaten an elephant for breakfast.”

 

Jongin sits up and chews on his sandwich. Fresh lettuce, scrambled eggs, and tuna spread. It’s delicious. “Oh. The coffee beans are not from Daljong-myeon. It’s from a small family-owned grinder business in Gapak, a neighboring town. The berries are grown and milled there before they’re exported to the mainland.”

 

“It’s a small place with tons of things crammed inside,” Kyungsoo summarizes. He sees Jongin’s bangs sticking to his forehead, and leans in closer to wipe the sweat off with a towel. “This place is paradise.”

 

“We have everything here. Hot springs, cold springs, nice beaches, exotic food, a lake, waterfalls, silk clothing, rice fields,” Jongin says. “It took me almost my whole childhood to explore this place. If you want to start now, you’d probably finish when you’re about forty or so.”

 

Kyungsoo doesn’t laugh at Jongin’s jibe; he sighs and looks ahead. He lets his head be cradled by the small, awkward space on his rucksack. “I wonder why Mom left,” he mumbles, mostly to himself.

 

Jongin turns to look at him. “Do you like it here so far?”

 

A pause, before the edges of Kyungsoo’s lips pull up into a soft smile. “So far,” he says. 

 

…

 

Jongin suddenly wakes up to the sound of Screecher’s voice, calling them to pull up to the shore. He has no idea how long he’s been asleep, but judging from the position of the sun, it must have been quite some time. It’s already late in the afternoon.

 

He’s about to sit up when he feels something shift on his side. Kyungsoo is sleeping with his head leaning onto Jongin’s arm, the tip of his nose buried on the sleeve of Jongin’s denim jacket.

 

For the first time, Jongin gets a good visual of Kyungsoo’s face. His skin is smooth, lips plump, obsidian black hair soft and velvety. His eyelashes are not long, but they’re thick and very dark. Jongin reaches out to pull back the bangs covering Kyungsoo’s forehead but stops halfway, thinking it would be too weird.

 

He takes a mental snapshot of this moment before shaking Kyungsoo’s shoulders. He whispers to his ear, “Kyungsoo-ssi, Kyungsoo-ssi. It’s time to go. It’s almost sundown.”

 

Kyungsoo slowly rouses. His eyelids flutter open, revealing a set of sleep-glazed eyes. He looks around for a moment, taking in the heavy creases on Jongin’s jacket before flushing a deep red. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I didn’t know I fell asleep.”

 

“Me neither. It was a nice nap, though.” Jongin reels in the wire, and growls at the empty fish hooks. “And that’s all we did for today. I can’t believe it. I’m a lousy tour guide.”

 

Kyungsoo chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s okay, really. It’s the best sleep I’ve had in ages.” He’s right. Kyungsoo’s face seems lighter somehow. The dark circles under his eyes are still there, but lighter, and that sad pucker on his lips is gone.

 

“It’s a bummer we have to leave then,” Jongin says, happy.

 

They quickly settle their things and row back to the lakeshore. Screecher is huffing, all the while rocking back and forth on his crippled chair, as the two bid him goodbye and start setting off to the clearing. They’re quiet again until Kyungsoo undoes the belt from his rucksack and nibbles on a sandwich. Hunger must’ve caught up to him.

 

“We’re almost at the square,” Jongin says. “There’s a nice seaside restaurant back in town. It was your father’s favorite.”

 

Kyungsoo pulls back his bangs. His forehead is shining with sweat. “I remember he liked lobsters.”

 

“Liked?” Jongin grins at him with a gleam in his eyes. “He was crazy about them! He used to crack the pincers first and suck them dry like an octopus, and he chugged everything down with five mugs of frosty root beer.” He remembers one time ordering five platters of steamed lobsters and mussels and shrimp, and complaining out loud about endangering the marine wildlife when Minhyuk yelled at him to order for three more. “He also got drunk pretty easily. Minseok hyung, Yifan hyung, Sehun and I often had to carry him all the way to his room before he puked all over the camellias.”

 

Kyungsoo cracks a smile. “You make him sound like a Viking.”

 

“He kind of was,” Jongin says, laughing at the memory. “He had the build of a pro-wrestler. If anybody got into trouble with the other villages, they all ran to Minhyuk.”

 

Up ahead, Jongin spots the heather roofs and block foundations. The sun is already setting, and some of the streetlights are beaming like stars that have fallen to earth. He looks at Kyungsoo for a moment and notices the creases on his forehead are back, and so is the pucker on his lips.

 

“Mom never told me he was this important,” Kyungsoo confesses. “She rarely spoke of him back at home. I thought he was…” He stops there, clearing his throat and looking ahead.

 

Kyungsoo doesn’t need to say anything more; Jongin can already make out what Kyungsoo’s trying to tell him. “He was a great person,” Jongin says. “But personally, I don’t think he would have made a great father. He had a lot of things on his plate. I guess that’s why he took me in too, for the business. He needed all the help he could get.”

 

Kyungsoo sighs. “I just wish I knew more about this place before.”

 

“Well, you have tons of time to make up for it,” Jongin assures him. “But let’s eat first, Kyungsoo-ssi. You can’t unravel Gumseo-do’s thousand year brilliance with an empty stomach.” He winks, and Kyungsoo smiles a little.

 

As soon as they come in the restaurant, a woman named Hyerim pinches his cheeks, cooing at how itty-bitty Jonginnie that used to run naked all over the soda springs has grown into such a fine young man. Kyungsoo covers his mouth with a hand, but tiny breaths of chuckles still manage to escape.

 

“You never saw or heard that,” Jongin mock threatens when they arrive at the table next to the window. Kyungsoo nods promptly in amusement and makes a motion of zipping his lips.

 

Their tea arrives a minute after. Kyungsoo seems to like it, but admits that he still likes coffee better.

 

“We’ll have to restock a truckload for you in the kitchen then,” Jongin laughs. “But isn’t that bad for you, though? Too much caffeine?”

 

“I’d been drinking it since I was in high school. I always had to stay up late finishing projects and studying for exams.” Kyungsoo smacks his chapped lips. “I once bought a coffee maker with my allowance and snuck it inside my room so my mom wouldn’t find out. She hated coffee.”

 

“The coffee here tastes a thousand times more bitter, though,” Jongin remarks. Their knees bump together slightly when they both reach out for the platter of shrimp given by one of Hyerim’s daughters. She shamelessly bats her eyelashes at Jongin, and Kyungsoo, who notices, stifles another laugh with the back of his hand.

 

“Let me know if you need anything,” the girl says with a sultry voice.

 

When she takes off and Kyungsoo looks at him with wide eyes, Jongin scowls. “That’s Youngae,” he mutters, stabbing the shells with his fork. “She was in the same year as me in high school.”

 

“And you’ve known each other long, I can tell.” Kyungsoo eyes the girl critically. There’s a hint of a smile in his voice. “She’s a little… upfront with her feelings.”

 

Upfront is an understatement. Youngae had been especially vicious when they were kids, and there was no avoiding her at school when there was only one section per year in a school as tiny as theirs. Jongin had to dodge Youngae’s advances without making himself look like a jerk.

 

“You like her?” Kyungsoo asks, then laughs at Jongin’s answering glower. “I’ll take that as a no.”

 

Jongin snorts ungracefully, picking at the shellfish with his metal chopsticks. He tries not to look annoyed. Kyungsoo looks brighter, at least. “Getting a kick out of my killer romance story, huh,” Jongin comments.

 

“Well, it’s not like that…” He swallows his shrimp and looks around the restaurant. His gaze stops at the table full of old men in straw hats howling in laughter, toasting their mugs with a loud clink. “Everyone seems to know everyone around here,” Kyungsoo says thoughtfully. “It’s weird, but it’s also… nice. Back in Seoul nobody gives a rat’s ass about who you are as long as you’re not a celebrity or a politician.”

 

Jongin shrugs. “Probably, but it’s pretty harsh if you’re a guy who just wants to be on the island for the solitude. People here snort gossip for a living – you’d get killed by the judging stares alone.”

 

“That makes me feel warm inside,” Kyungsoo replies. “Are there a lot of people who come here for that? The solitude?”

 

“Not a lot of people come here, period.” Kyungsoo glides the remaining platter of shellfish towards him, and Jongin relocates it to his plate. He dissects the clams with his fingers. “You could count tourists, but that’s just it. There’re a lot of eye-catching things here and the seasons are pretty kind to the island, but it’s probably not the kind of stuff that would make people stay.”

 

“Well, you did,” Kyungsoo says shortly. “Or do you want to leave too?” he asks, laying bare another horrible truth. 

 

Jongin thinks back on the textbooks he’s kept under his bed, and fights himself from squirming in his seat. “I wanted to, but I just never got around it. Well, honestly, I tried once but you know how it is. It’s kind of hard to leave when all your memories have been made here.”

 

Kyungsoo nods almost imperceptibly. Jongin continues, “When are you going back to Seoul, Kyungsoo-ssi?”

 

Kyungsoo seems taken aback by this question. He straightens himself before answering, “I don’t know. As long as it takes for my dad’s papers to come through. I haven’t decided what to do with the umm –”

 

Jongin observes Kyungsoo fold his napkin into neat squares, just as he did with the bedcovers back home. It seems like Kyungsoo’s going to leave it like that, so Jongin says, “It’s a big place, I know. It’ll probably take months to settle.” He reaches out to remove a peeled shell that hangs on Kyungsoo’s sleeve, and his fingers lightly brush his arm. Kyungsoo stills for a moment at the touch before visibly relaxing.

 

“I just have to make sure things are alright here and back in Seoul,” Kyungsoo whispers. His eyes move up quickly to Jongin’s before looking down again.

 

“Are you talking about your mom?” And Kyungsoo flinches at this; Jongin instantly regrets asking. The inkiness around his eyes is back.

 

“She’ll be fine,” Kyungsoo slips out after a short pause, but he sounds unsure. “She can find other people to fuss over when I’m not there. She gets bored easily, and she’ll do anything to prevent that.”

 

“So… you’re worried about something else?” Jongin prompts.

 

“I guess.” And just like that, Kyungsoo’s closing himself again, and Jongin has to swallow back another sigh. He can tell that Kyungsoo seems to make worrying a recreational sport, and it’ll probably take a long time for Jongin to get him to ease up a little bit.

 

They take off before the hostess could make them drink a case of the island’s notorious beer. Kyungsoo leaves a handsome tip behind, and Jongin is relieved that he’s slightly upbeat now as he teases Jongin into leaving a kiss mark on the bill for Youngae.

 

Through the corner of his eyes, Jongin sees that there are a few villagers peeking out of their windows and whispering conspiratorially to themselves as they pass by. He can tell that Kyungsoo notices them too, and tries not to look bothered by it. Jongin surreptitiously glares at an old widow who’s giving Kyungsoo the stink-eye.

 

Jongin hooks his fingers on the pockets of his jacket. “There’re still some tourists here.” He points at the chirping women buying silk scarves at the stand nearby. “September’s a week from now, and it’s going to get a little chilly from then on. Did you pack heavy?”

 

Kyungsoo nods. “My friend Tao helped me pack. He and his boss came here for a vacation before, so he’s pretty well-versed about the area. He really likes this place.”

 

“Tao?” Jongin stops to think for a while. “Isn’t that a Chinese name?”

 

“Yeah. Huang Zitao. He moved in 2011 next to my apartment. He still struggles with his Korean every now and then so he usually dragged me along when he wanted to go shopping in Myeong-dong,” Kyungsoo takes a deep breath. The wind blows on their direction in that exact moment, and they both retreat in their jackets.

 

“I have a friend who’s Chinese too. Wu Yifan. He works at the manor with us,” Jongin says. “His family’s been here for generations, and came here way, way back in the 1800s when China had an economic problem and some of the merchants tried seeking for good fortune in other lands. His grandfather’s father and your grandfather’s father were great friends too – together they started the silk trade here in Gumseo-do and strengthened it enough to be recognized in the public market back in the 1930s.”

 

Kyungsoo lets out a low whistle. “Wow. I never thought Yifan-ssi and I had a history like that,” he says in awe.

 

Jongin agrees easily, laughing a little. “Sorry if I forgot to mention it. It’s easy to forget that everyone is connected with each other in Gumseo, in more ways than one. Your dad actually wanted the Wus to have their own place in the manor, but Yifan’s father refused. They have their own land near Mt. Iwa. He says they can’t leave their home.”

 

They arrive at the front gates soon after. Jongin slips out his shoes and replaces them with clean slippers. Kyungsoo leaves Minseok’s boots beside an empty canary cage on display and takes his own pair of slippers.

 

Kyungsoo flies directly to the kitchen and Jongin curiously follows. He takes a pitcher from the fridge before pouring the contents into two tall glasses, and Jongin watches as he pulls back a chair and sits.

 

Jongin takes the chair next to him. “You do know that this table is for the servants, right?” he questions. “You should be eating and drinking at the dining table over there since you’re the master of the house.”

 

Kyungsoo gives him a weird glance. There’s a small twinge of pink on the tip of his nose, probably from the cold wind outside, and Jongin thinks it looks rather cute on Kyungsoo.

 

“I’m actually _your_ servant also,” Jongin explains further. “Since I was like your father’s PA when he was still... you know. Here.”

 

“You’re not my servant,” Kyungsoo replies smoothly. He takes a cool swig of water and licks his lips. “You were my father’s attendant, but that doesn’t mean you’re mine too, right?” He shrugs, and Jongin feels tongue-tied. “That wouldn’t be fair to you. Besides, I think I’m too old to have someone to look after me all the time.”

 

Jongin rubs his neck. “Still, you know. Minseok hyung said it’d be best if I were around in case you need help around here. Hyungnim’s job was, um, pretty crazy.”

 

“Oh. Well, if you’re feeling obliged to keep me company because of Dad then –”

 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Jongin interjects. “I’ll be here just in case you feel…” Sad? Confused? Angry? Depressed? Lonely? He’s not sure exactly what he’s supposed to say, because Do Kyungsoo seems like a mixture of all those things. Jongin thinks back on the moment he found himself frightened of him, and he wants to smack himself silly.

 

There’s that odd bubbling in his gut again. His hand flies to his stomach, clenching it.

 

Jongin can feel his cheeks coloring when Kyungsoo gets the message, his face also deepening into an interesting shade of burgundy.    

 

“How old are you exactly?” Jongin asks, trying to keep his voice light.

 

Kyungsoo licks his lips and glances at the high ceiling, making it look like he’s mulling over his age. “Twenty-five.”

 

Jongin wants to laugh. It feels rather weird wanting to protect a hyung.

 

“So, hyung,” he starts. The endearment slips easier on his tongue, and it sounds even better than calling him ‘Kyungsoo-ssi’. Jongin has always felt stiff when he’s talking so formally. “After that long, tedious day of walking, you might want to soak all those coiled up muscles in your thighs. And with that I can assure you that I’d be a better tour guide from now on.”

 

Kyungsoo raises an eyebrow archly, fighting back a smile. “I’m listening.”

 

“I know a hot spring that’s three and a half hours away,” Jongin says. “We can take the jeep so we get there quicker.”

 

“No more walking?”

 

“No more walking,” he promises.

 

Kyungsoo’s face breaks into another big grin – the heart-shaped smile Jongin is beginning to like reappears, and it makes the skin under his eyes crinkle adorably. “I almost felt like strangling you back in Dai. You were going too fast.”

 

“You should’ve said something then,” Jongin laughs. “I forgot you didn’t take that much hikes in the city. You don’t strike me as a crazy, homicidal person, though.”

 

“I’m an accomplished murderer,” Kyungsoo assures him. “Your death would be quick and decisive.” He stands up to wash the empty glasses and places back the pitcher inside the fridge as Jongin stands up and flicks the light switch.

 

Jongin follows Kyungsoo to the doorway, leaning onto the post. “It would take a lot for you to get rid of me,” he says proudly, winking. “I hope you had fun today.”

 

“Good night,” Kyungsoo pauses for a while before then adding, “Thanks for today, Jongin. It was great.”

 

Jongin waits for Kyungsoo to close the door just like last night, before going back to his own room.  

 

…

 

The Hamijasprings would have to wait. Back at the manor, Jongin yawns along with the casual spray of the morning sunshine on the paper window shades when he sees the workers hissing at each other in front of a door.

 

It’s the door to Minhyuk’s office, and Jongin immediately shuffles towards them. Minseok is rolling his eyes at Sehun and Yifan, who are arguing over who gets to peek at the keyhole. The maids and the cook are gossiping at the side with their ears planted firmly on the wooden wall.

 

“What the hell are you guys doing?” Jongin says sharply. “Who’s in there?”

 

Yifan takes a break from peering into the keyhole. Sehun pushes his shoulder away with a loud grumble. “It’s my dad and Youngmin,” Yifan tells him with a displeased look. “They’re with Kyungsoo-ssi and some real estate boob from the mainland, talking about you-know-what going to you-know-where.”

 

“Unannounced?” Jongin’s heart leaps up to his throat. Why are they here when Minhyuk passed away not too long ago? “That’s unfair! Kyungsoo hyung just got here!”

 

Minseok gives him a fleeting curious stare at the word ‘ _hyung’_ before saying, “Well, Renshu can come in and out of here whenever he likes. It’s his job to check up on us anyway.”

 

“They’re ganging up on him,” Jongin responds heatedly, nudging Sehun to take a step back, but the younger doesn’t budge.

 

Sehun growls at the keyhole. “Whose buttcrack is that?” he whines. “I can’t see anything!”

 

Jongin pushes even harder until Sehun relinquishes his post, and then crouches like a frog to get a glimpse inside the room.

 

Luckily, Renshu has already moved aside and Jongin can see Kyungsoo sitting across the real estate man and Youngmin, the transaction attorney. Jongin recognizes him from the man’s past visits to Gumseo-do. There’s a pot of hot tea on the table, and all the cups are almost empty except for the one in front of Kyungsoo, which looks like it hasn’t been touched. Kyungsoo seems to be deeply engrossed on a document in his hands.

 

“I hope you will be more reasonable than your father,” the real estate man says in a drawling voice. It sounds like he’s been repeating that statement for the whole morning. “There’s a lot more to running a successful business than having the whole island backing you up. Acres of this land can reap more income if we put it up for sale. I understand you also have a job waiting for you back in Seoul. Rest assured that your family’s land will be placed in good hands – we already have tons of potential buyers filing the massive paperwork –”

 

“What are they saying?” Sehun whispers heatedly on his ear, and Jongin promptly shushes him.

 

“ – is rather self-indulgent. All you need to do is sign the papers and Youngmin here will do the rest of the work. It would go as smoothly as you want. There will be no hold-up at the MTC, I promise you.”

 

Kyungsoo remains silent for a full minute. Jongin can’t make out his expression from the dimness of the room, so he scoots a bit closer until half of his body is pressed against the door.

 

Kyungsoo looks in Jongin’s direction. “What’s your say in this?” he questions, and it takes a second for Jongin’s brain to register that he must be talking to Renshu.

 

“It’s your ancestor’s land,” a disembodied voice says quietly, a little hoarse.

 

“But what’s _your_ opinion?” Kyungsoo presses. His gaze is as sharp as knives, and it’s the first time Jongin has seen him like this, with his mouth downturned into a severe frown. It makes Kyungsoo look older, scarier. “I want to know where you stand. You and Dad had been working on this for years.”

 

Renshu sighs deeply. “Your father should have told you that he’d left you a business with no marked improvement for ten years. With the growing market of artificial cloths and dyes, we tried remedying it by lowering the prices and increasing the stocks, but nothing’s changed for the better. The trade is plummeting so fast we’re almost buried to the ground.”

 

Renshu is right of course. The rest of the world had been shifting to cheaper, advanced products while Gumseo-do sits idly on the Korean Strait, collecting dust and refusing to be swallowed by change.

 

“You know how this works,” Youngmin adds. “You’ve lived in the city for most of your life, yes?”

 

Jongin’s heartbeat falters at the same time Kyungsoo’s expression hardens.

 

Kyungsoo sits still for a good five minutes, before handing the papers to the agent. “I’ll think about it,” he says smoothly. Jongin takes pleasure in the way the man seems to shrink under Kyungsoo’s piercing stare.

 

The doorknob suddenly unlocks. Everyone immediately scrambles from the doorway, leaping away to give the visitors some space to vacate the room. Renshu flashes Yifan a frown, beckoning his son to escort Youngmin and his companion to the front gate.

 

As soon as they leave, Minseok, Jongin, Sehun and the rest of the maids who did not run off crowd the office.

 

Yoorae, a maid in her late forties who has worked for the Do family the longest, makes her way inside to clean up the tea set on the table. “What are we going to do, sir?” she speaks up, her expression filled with concern.

 

All their eyes are on Kyungsoo, who is still sitting on the cushion of a chair with a faraway look. He reminds Jongin of the red granite statue at the small sadang near the peak of Mt. Iwa.

 

Finally, Kyungsoo stands up from his seat. He doesn’t say anything, his eyes downcast, and proceeds to the doorway. Nobody makes a move to touch him or ask what this means to the whole Daljong-myeon proper. Instead, they let their eyes follow Kyungsoo’s figure as he trudges to the other end of the hallway and until he closes the door behind him. All is silent for a moment.

 

Sehun exhales loudly. “I just hope he won’t go down without a fight,” he says, and Jongin silently agrees with him.  

 

…

 

 

Kyungsoo stays in his room for an entire week. Jongin, Minseok, and the cook make sure he doesn’t starve himself to death, constantly checking up on him and delivering his meals. But he doesn’t seem to be eating any of them at all, Jongin observes, as Kyungsoo’s arms grow wiry and his cheeks sink that he almost looks like a corpse.

 

One day, when Jongin knocked eighteen times on Kyungsoo’s door with no answer, he unlocked door only to find him knocked out on the table, his face buried on stacks of papers filled with pie charts and spreadsheets. Kyungsoo’s fingers were inked with red and black marks from his pens, and the bottom of his mug was coated with sticky coffee residue. There were fifteen missed calls on his phone, all from his mother.

 

Jongin had spread out the curtains and covered Kyungsoo with a blanket, all the while sporting a worried frown on his face.

 

…

 

Jongin heads out to the patio to clear his mind. It’s almost midnight and he’s alone, and the bad thoughts are plaguing him again. He used to like the huge space the manor provides when he was young, when he used to play ssireum and neolttwigiwith the workers’ kids. He could run around the grounds without breaking much stuff, and he could hide from the cook behind the backyard shed and eat the rice cakes he stole from the pantry.

 

But now that he’s grown up, the manor feels empty, especially at night. The winds howling against the windows and the sad chirping of the birds echo in the long, undecorated hallways make Jongin feel as if the whole place has been abandoned. That he’s been abandoned.

 

He winces at the frigid air that slams on his face as he steps out of the patio. He spots a dark figure under the gazebo.

 

Maybe Kyungsoo couldn’t sleep too. Jongin waits for a while, before moving closer.

 

“You should lay off on the coffee,” Jongin quips, trying for a grin. “The only time I see you come out of your room is when you go out for a refill.”

 

Kyungsoo seems to be having trouble making him out in the dark without his glasses on, so it takes a while for him to respond. “I’m not awake because of the coffee,” he says.

 

Jongin steps in the gazebo and takes a seat right next to Kyungsoo. He notices Kyungsoo’s shoulders have stiffened after, putting up a shield.

 

_“You have to understand, though,” Minseok had said to him earlier at dinner, when Jongin had complained of Kyungsoo ‘clamming up when everybody needs him to be open’. “The whole town has already typecasted him as the villain. If he gives up the land to that real estate jerk, people will call him selfish. If he refuses, then he’s an idiot.”_

_“It would’ve been better if he’d just talk to us so we can help him figure it out,” Jongin fired back. “It’s frightening. Daljeong-myeon isn’t just his to protect – it’s ours too.”_

_Minseok shook his head. He made a passing comment on how the chicken had been soaked too long. “He’s different. He’s not like Sehun, who complains every chance he gets. Kyungsoo …” He paused, thinking about it. “Prefers suffering in silence, where he won’t put anyone in a difficult situation but himself. It’s the kind of noble idiocy we can expect from Do Minhyuk’s kid.” Minseok laughed a little, his shoulders quaking. “Though I do hope he’s far from being an idiot, really.”_

_Jongin shrugged, pouting. “Some problems are better done with a team, you know. Kyungsoo hyung doesn’t have to deal with this alone. He has us.”_

_Minseok flashed him a broad smile. “Sure. You go tell him that.”_

 

Jongin fights back a sigh from escaping his lips. If only it could be that easy.

 

Kyungsoo catches Jongin studying him from underneath his lashes, and Jongin hopes that it’s dark enough to hide the blush spreading over his cheeks and on the tip of his nose. Surprisingly, it’s Kyungsoo who breaks the silence. “Sorry for claiming your spot. I thought you were asleep.”

 

“I was, but it’s been getting louder.”

 

Kyungsoo shifts his head to look at him. “What’s getting louder?”

 

“The silence.” He stops. Jongin realizes he sounded pretty silly, so he expounds, “I mean, there’s nothing to drown out all the noises from the forest. I thought I heard a wolf howling in Dai all the way from here.”

 

Kyungsoo drops his head on the table, his chin leaning on the crook of his arm. The front gates are tall, but not tall enough for them not to see the vast painting of stars if they look up. “I hope Screecher-ssi’s alright, then,” he mumbles to the sky.

 

“You kidding? I wish a real wolf would gobble him up. He’s pretty nasty to the tourists.”

 

“You’re not nice either,” Kyungsoo shoots back, a wry grin spreading on his face.

 

Jongin chuckles. “You’re right. I’m not.”

 

The clouds roll by quickly when the wind shifts its direction, and the moon peeks out of the thick smudges of gray-white. The light slowly glides down to the gazebo like soft, silvery tendrils of silk. Jongin catches a small glimpse of Kyungsoo’s face bathed in moonlight, looking peaceful, before the clouds roll by again.

 

“There aren’t any monsters out here, are there?” Kyungsoo queries suddenly.

 

“No, I don’t think so,” Jongin muses. “You just feel like there’s something out there when you’re alone, when the forest creatures get antsy. Especially during nighttime.”

 

“Why is that?”

 

“Well, they say the spirits of the dead roam there,” Jongin says. “In Dai, I mean. It wasn’t actually a forest before. It used to be Gibo, the island’s capital. Before the eruption of Mt. Iwa in 1910, it also blew up in the 1880s. It buried the whole town with lava and boulders from the landslides. It happened in the middle of the night, when most of the people were asleep. We locals don’t like to talk about it.”

 

Kyungsoo rubs the goosebumps forming on his arms. “Is it taboo?”

 

“Not exactly. There’s just something scary about a whole town wiped out in a matter of minutes,” Jongin tells him, cupping his legs closer to his chest to keep himself warm. “Maybe Mt. Iwa would erupt again and destroy the whole island or, I don’t know, maybe the ocean would swallow us up like Atlantis.” He chuckles sadly. “Gumseo-do is really small. Sometimes, you won’t even find this place on a map. I guess we’re all frightened at the idea that this place won’t exist anymore.”

 

They’re quiet again, until Kyungsoo’s fingers snakes around Jongin’s and squeezes his hand. Jongin hesitates at first before squeezing back. He thinks that this must be Kyungsoo’s way of showing comfort.

 

“I think I hear them too, sometimes,” Kyungsoo admits. “The voices. I only spent six years of my childhood here, but this is where my family grew up in, so I guess some of those voices could be my grandfather’s, or my great, great, great grand-cousin from my mother’s side.”

 

Jongin puffs out his cheeks. “I hope those voices are not telling you something.”

 

“Oh, they are,” Kyungsoo says rather darkly, but doesn’t elaborate.

 

Jongin turns and stares at him for a while, without meaning to. Kyungsoo looks like the type who likes surrounding himself with the quiet, so perhaps it’s just too easy for him to hear them clearly. He, on the other hand, keeps his brain busy by reading a book or having a shouting match with Sehun. It helps that Minseok and Yoorae always give him something to do, as if they’re worried that he might do something wrong if he’s left alone with his thoughts.

 

Jongin nudges him on the ribs. “Your ancestors must be especially whiny tonight, hyung. I have earmuffs.”

 

“They’re not as cranky and irritating as my mom. I’ll live,” Kyungsoo supplies, and Jongin laughs, showing all of his teeth.

 

“She’s just worried about you,” Jongin supplies. “I would too if I were her. His son is in an island far, far way with no one but a totally handsome dongsaeng following him around all the time.”

 

“You flatter yourself.” Kyungsoo rolls his eyes and snorts, but Jongin can tell that he’s not at all bothered. He probably notices for the first time that they’re still holding hands, and deftly withdraws his hand back to the pocket of his hoodie. Jongin inwardly thinks that it’s fine, though, since Kyungsoo’s shoulders are more relaxed now, and the shield that had been there a while ago has been lowered a little.

 

“Just tell her to wait a few more weeks,” Jongin suggests. “Time flies by really quickly here especially, and you’d be back in Seoul before you know it.”

 

Kyungsoo curls up into a ball, mirroring Jongin’s position. He sighs. “I don’t think I’m coming back.”

 

Jongin watches him, training his eyes on Kyungsoo’s face. “Where? To Gumseo?”

 

“No,” Kyungsoo looks back to him. “To Seoul.”

 

“Oh,” Jongin says lamely. It takes a while for him to rip his gaze apart from Kyungsoo’s. The wild churning in his stomach is back again.

 

“I’ll still visit, I guess. See my mom,” Kyungsoo says. His voice sounds exhausted, like he’s been holding it in for a long time. “I still have to send my resignation letter. It’s sort of rude of me since I worked for them for less than a year, but…” He sighs, scratching his head. Jongin still hasn’t gotten used to Kyungsoo cutting himself through mid-sentences, but it looks like he’ll have all the time in the world to figure it out.

 

“Are you…?” Jongin nibbles at his lower lip. He still can’t get himself to ask the question that has been lingering on everybody’s heads. _Are you okay?_

 

“That’s great, I guess,” is what he settles to say instead, whooping. He slaps Kyungsoo on the arm repeatedly. “You go show them who’s boss.”

 

Kyungsoo only chuckles and nods. He lays out his head entirely on the cool table, his eyelids closing.

 

“I don’t hear the voices anymore,” he whispers, yawning slightly. His expression is about a tiptoe away from sleep.

 

Jongin frowns and asks after a long pause, “They’ve been bothering you for a long time, huh?” But there’s no answer.

 

It only takes half a minute before Kyungsoo falls asleep soundly, his breath coming out like a stream. Jongin exhales, tilting his head to watch him. For a moment, he considers carrying Kyungsoo back to his bedroom, but ultimately decides that he’ll just have to settle for this.

 

The slight pucker on Kyungsoo’s mouth is back again, so Jongin gingerly rubs his thumb against it to smooth it away. Kyungsoo moans in annoyance, and Jongin laughs quietly.

 

Jongin leans his head against the steel post. The heaviness that he carried all the while in his chest when he came to the gazebo has lightened considerably, and he cranes his neck to look at Kyungsoo for a while, content with watching his back rise and fall as he breathes.

 

The feeling of happiness and relief takes Jongin by surprise but he eagerly welcomes it. He reaches out with his fingers to Kyungsoo’s chin and wipes a bit of drool that started to slip, gulping back a laugh.

 

Jongin shuts his eyes. He waits for dawn to come.

 

…

 

 

Kyungsoo is nowhere in his room when Jongin checks up on him the next day. He goes to the kitchen, thinking that he might have thought of making breakfast for himself again, but no one is there except for the cook. Jongin helps her snap the string beans before slipping outside.

 

Yifan is with his wife, Qian, threading the banana fiber for the loom. They seem to be talking something serious with one another before Yifan spots Jongin and clams his mouth shut instantly.

 

Jongin narrows his eyes. “Has any of you seen Kyungsoo hyung?”

 

Qian and Yifan share a quick glance. Yifan responds, “He was talking with Dad earlier at the patio. I don’t know where he is right now.”

 

Jongin nods, spinning on his heels when Qian presses an urgent hand on his arm. “Is it true?” Qian questions him. “Is Do Kyungsoo-ssi really staying to look after the business?”

 

This must be the reason behind the butter-thick restlessness the workers are feeling. Jongin had seen it too earlier, when the cook seemed distracted and nervous until he offered to help. “Yeah,” Jongin affirms. “He told me last night.”

 

That seems to shock her a little, but the taut lines at the corner of her lips slacken. She lets out a shaky breath. “Jonginnie, please thank him for me. It’s a big sacrifice for someone so young.”

 

“Will do,” Jongin says and leaves, setting off again. He finally finds Kyungsoo under the gazebo again, wearing a black sweatshirt and jeans. His feet are socked and warm against a pair of beach slippers, and his round glasses keeps on sliding to the tip of his nose. A map is spread out on the table, decorated with post-its and highlighters.

 

“You like abusing colors,” Jongin comments at the paragraphs heavily lined with yellow and blue, grinning. “But you dress like you’re heading for a funeral most of the time.” He helped Kyungsoo unpack the day of his arrival, and most of his clothes were monochrome suits and dull parkas, sweaters and track pants. Jongin finds that he really likes this striking contrast about Kyungsoo.

 

“I sometimes have trouble remembering things,” Kyungsoo says. His glasses are slipping again when he looks down to encircle a location on his map, and he pushes them back with his index finger. “I learned that the hard way when I was in the city. I have to be extra careful and organized so I don’t lose stuff, and I like arranging things in color because it helps me remember.”

 

Which explains the almost OCD way he keeps his room and the office clean. Jongin nods to himself. “So what’s your favorite color?”

 

“Black,” he answers simply, and Jongin’s lips automatically lilt upwards. It’s both surprising and not. Very much like Kyungsoo.

 

Jongin moves to sit next to him. Kyungsoo slides to the left, giving him space.

 

“What are you working on?”

 

Kyungsoo points at a red dot on the map with the ballpoint of his pen. Jongin leans closer to the table. “There’s a village in northwest Cambodia that makes textiles much like ours,” Kyungsoo says. His tone has gone flat, like he’s discussing a term from a textbook. Serious. “But they’ve gotten bigger in the last four years, and are very much well-known. Their products are shipped to Australia, Canada, and Japan. And some of them are displayed as tapestries in museums.”

 

Jongin smacks his lips in awe. “Woah. How did they do that?”

 

“That’s what I want to know too,” Kyungsoo says. “Here in Korea we have to compete with cheaper silk cloths and the much larger labor force, not to mention the taxes.” He pulls out a sheet of paper from a folder. “And because we use natural dyes, it takes half a year for us to make a single mat when a factory that uses artificial ones can make ten of that in seven hours.”

 

“You’re not suggesting jumping to artificial dyes, are you?”

 

“No. They smell horrible and they fade away with time. I’d rather work in a knacker than sell third-rate hanboks made out of that crap.”

 

“So,” Jongin chuckles. “What’s the plan?”

 

“We don’t produce half as much as we used to,” Kyungsoo informs him, showing him a spreadsheet with another set of post-its on them. Jongin’s eyes glaze over the numbers and hands it back to him with a sheepish grin, not understanding a thing. Kyungsoo rolls his eyes, a small smile dangling on his lips betraying his amusement. “Looks like we’ve been slacking off. And we lack marketing. We need a good marketing team.”

 

“Didn’t you say you worked on advertising?” Jongin points out, and Kyungsoo’s face goes blank.

 

“I’m… more of a person who’s well acquainted with the drawing board rather than as an actual PR,” Kyungsoo says. His fingers curl on his lap. “Simply put, I make marketing strategies, but I don’t do them. I’m not good at dealing with people.”

 

Jongin throws him a look. “Are you serious? Youngmin and that pot-belly guy got their asses handed to them when you spoke with them two weeks ago. You should’ve seen their faces.”

 

“That’s not it, really,” Kyungsoo says, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I’m not that… friendly.”

 

“That I can agree with,” Jongin quips, and Kyungsoo glares at him.

 

He groans, placing his hands over his eyes and edging away from the table. “Youngmin and Chanhyuk – the real estate person – gave me five months to fix this or we’ll end up in debt.” Kyungsoo sighs. “MTC would sooner or later shut us down if Chanhyuk doesn’t get to us first.”

 

“It’s more complicated than I thought it’d be,” Jongin says. Kyungsoo grunts morosely in agreement.

 

And Jongin stops to wonder why Kyungsoo is here, doing what he’s doing right now. Jongin wants to tell him that he doesn’t have to. He has a life back in Seoul. A comfortable one, an easier one. Daljong-myeon will probably suffer without him, but Jongin has grown to accept that it won’t really be Kyungsoo’s fault. Along with the rest of the island, the whole town is already dying anyway, only three and a half steps away from decaying into a husk of nothing on the East Sea.

 

The words are on the tip of his tongue, anxious to be said. But Jongin keeps the question to himself, tucking it closer to his heart. He reminds himself of the way Kyungsoo looked at him last night and squeezed his hand.

 

“Where do you keep the worms?” Kyungsoo asks so abruptly that his voice cracks at the end. He pulls away from the divider and starts curling the map into the cylinder container. Jongin stands to help him clean up.

 

“It’s back at the shed, inside,” Jongin says. “Need a change of scenery?”

 

“Sort of,” Kyungsoo’s teeth sinks to his lower lip, thinking. “Dad had tons of books in his study and I did my own research, but I need first-hand experience.”

 

“It’ll be quite a challenge,” Jongin promises, but Kyungsoo waves him off. He can almost hear the _You’re on_ comeback in Kyungsoo’s wry grin.

 

…

 

“What is that _smell_?”

 

“That, my friend, is the smell of minimum wage labor.”

 

“And insect shit,” Kyungsoo wrinkles his nose. He covers half of his face with the towel draped around his neck. “Did I hear you right? That you move them from the scaffolding every day?”

 

“You still have good ears,” Jongin confirms, thoroughly amused. He removes the worms from the winnowing basket one by one and transfers them to another bamboo tray, all the while flicking the chewed leaves and excrement sticking onto the insects’ legs. Kyungsoo looks scandalized.

 

“Aren’t you going to wear gloves?” Kyungsoo says, aghast. 

 

“Where’s that upbeat attitude you had a few minutes ago?” Jongin retorts, smirking. He holds out a larva with his fingers and laughs loudly when Kyungsoo’s eyes widen. “It’s better that you can grasp how much pressure you’re applying on them. You might squish them if you’re not careful. Besides, they’re not mutants, hyung. They actually look pretty cute.”

 

Kyungsoo huffs and kneels down. He still looks overtly disgusted. “I just find it unsanitary. And we need to redefine your definition of cute.”

 

“I think you’re cute too,” Jongin shoots back. “Should I redefine that?”

 

Kyungsoo scowls at him. “Please do,” he says, his ears pink. “Guys aren’t supposed to be cute.”

 

“I’ll mull that one over,” Jongin says vaguely. He grabs Kyungsoo’s hand and tugs him closer. “We have to divide the colonies into separate trays if they get big enough. The ones that are about three inches long need to be transferred there,” he points at a big, circular bamboo tray. “If they look ready to produce silk.”

 

Kyungsoo starts picking the tiny, squiggling worms without further comment. He stashes them to a new tray filled with freshly picked mulberry leaves. “How do you know if they’re ready?”

 

“Ah,” Jongin stands. He slides the tray closest to him, a big one with ring divisions, covered by a cotton mesh. Carefully, he plucks out a worm clinging on the partitions, but unlike all the others, its head is sticking out in a weird fashion and it’s not struggling much from Jongin’s fingers. “His ass looks pretty fine, doesn’t it?” he says.

 

“I’m not seeing it,” Kyungsoo replies blandly, and Jongin laughs again.

 

“Their butts have to be shiny,” Jongin explains, showing him. “It means that they’re not going to poop again and are going to start spinning their cocoons instead. After you’ve harvested them, you remove them from the feeding trays and put them here so they can do their thing in peace.”

 

“How long will they spin their cocoons?”

 

“About two to three days. Around a quarter or a half of them die in between, and their carcasses make a fine delicacy for chickens. Those who survive will be boiled alive in order for us to extract the threads and dye them.”

 

“That’s pretty depressing.”

 

“It’s a hard life for the silkworms,” Jongin agrees. “No wonder animal activists hate us, but hey, you can’t please everybody.”

 

“Do you feed them to the chickens too after you boil them?”

 

“The chickens don’t like the taste of the boiled ones. We hand out some of them to the rest of the townspeople and the kids eat them,” Jongin says, and the disgusted expression in Kyungsoo’s face is back.

 

“I’ve read that the worms are high in protein,” Kyungsoo mumbles. When they’re both done segregating all the worms and piling the dead ones into the aluminum tin, they move towards the layers of winnowing baskets filled with insects undergoing their final stage of metamorphosis. Small, yellow cocoons encircle the scaffolding like tiny suns in a wooden maze.

 

Jongin watches Kyungsoo from the corner of his eyes from time to time. He opts to being a little bit defter in his staring, because he thinks that sometimes Kyungsoo notices. Whenever Kyungsoo catches him, he stares back at Jongin too before looking away quickly, like he just realized he should be doing something else.

 

“I thought they would be white.”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“The cocoons,” Kyungsoo says. “I thought they’d be white, but they’re yellow.”

 

“We use wild silkworms, so they’re yellow,” Jongin explains. He covers all the gossamer pellets with the cotton mesh and slots the tray back to the shelves. Kyungsoo stands, pats off the dirt on his pants, and does the same with his own tray. “The white ones you see on TV are selectively bred. Other breeders prefer white silk over yellow ones since they won’t have to bleach the threads to dye it with another color. Your dad tried using white ones before, but they use up all the mulberries faster than the wild ones, and their shit stank more.”

 

Kyungsoo stretches his arms and rubs his nape. His eyes look thoughtful. “I think I was young when Dad tried making a switch,” he says. “I remember he and Grandpa used to fight about it in the living room. I guess that’s why I remember the cocoons being white instead of yellow.”

 

Jongin tries to imagine a young Kyungsoo wearing a tattered shirt and a jumper like the rest of the village kids, eavesdropping behind a chair as his father and his grandfather quarrel about silkworm varieties. Somehow, it seems familiar.

 

Then it hits Jongin. “You were here when your grandfather was still alive?”

 

Kyungsoo gives him a confused look. “Yeah. Why?”

 

“I remember your grandfather too!” Jongin exclaims. “Large, beady eyes, stubby nose, big hands, doesn’t look… anything like you?”

 

Kyungsoo’s eyes widen like saucers. “Hates chocolates? Loves eating sea prunes for breakfast? Loves fishing?”

 

“ _‘Corals reefs are not fucking stones, kid!’_ ” Jongin is sniggering hard now. “ _‘Stop lecturing me about the tides, Minhyuk, or I’ll –’_ ”

 

“ _‘Throw you overboard’_ ,” Kyungsoo finishes for him. His jaw is slack as he blinks rapidly, his eyebrows leaping to great heights.

 

“This is amazing!” Jongin beams at him. “Your father took me in while your grandpa was still alive. We could’ve been friends before!”

 

“… But I don’t remember you,” Kyungsoo says after a while. His jaw still hasn’t recovered and he’s gaping at Jongin like he just fell from the sky.

 

That’s the mystery though. Jongin’s sure that he wouldn’t forget a boy like Do Kyungsoo if he could help it. “Me too. I don’t remember hanging out with you before, and my memory’s far superior to yours.” This earns a hard punch in the arm from Kyungsoo, and Jongin chuckles with a breeze, sticking out his tongue.

 

“Maybe we didn’t,” Kyungsoo says, frowning at the dirt. “I wasn’t great at making friends.”

 

“Maybe you locked yourself in your room just like your mom,” Jongin speculates. “I don’t remember ever seeing her too. Only Minseok hyung did.”

 

Kyungsoo half-smiles, half-grimaces. “That makes sense.”

 

They both exit the shed, looking ten times dirtier than they had been when they entered. The sun is already setting in the west, and Jongin can’t believe they’ve spent almost half a day inside the sericulture. Something about the rapid passage of time bothers Jongin, but he decides not to dwell on it further.

 

“Maybe I can find a picture of us when we were kids,” Jongin says, and Kyungsoo looks at him rather doubtfully.

 

“Social ineptitude, remember? I don’t think you’d ever find a photo of me, let alone the two of us together.”

 

“You’re forgetting how stubborn I can be,” Jongin flashes him a sly wink. He doesn’t say that ever since their trip to Seomjung Lake, there’s been a nagging pressure on his chest that he can’t quite put a finger on. Along with the loud thoughts in his head, Jongin has found it hard to sleep at night. Kyungsoo doesn’t look familiar, but he _feels_ familiar, like somebody unscrewed a bolt in his head and he knows there’s something missing. It might not be important, but… “Don’t worry about it, hyung. We’ll probably figure it out sooner or later.”

 

Kyungsoo nods. “I guess,” he says. “But I don’t think we’d find anything about us. I’d probably remember that even if you didn’t,” he adds, but his voice has been so soft that Jongin thinks he must have misheard it.

 

Jongin places both his hands on his hips, taking a deep breath in resolution. “Well at least we are friends right now, aren’t we?” He offers Kyungsoo a lopsided grin.

 

Kyungsoo licks his lips before saying, “Yeah.” He looks up at the brilliant orange sky, and Jongin watches quietly as Kyungsoo slowly smiles.

 

 

…

 

“Quit rapping. You’re not a good rapper,” Sehun says rashly, his face red either from irritation or exhaustion. They’ve been threading the banana’s pseudostem for hours now, and Jongin thinks that the heat of the sun must be getting to him.

 

“Qian thinks I am,” Yifan bites back, chuckling. He flies back to his rendition of a Huck P song, and Sehun groans loudly.

 

“She’s your wife. She’s _obliged_ to tell you that you don’t suck,” Sehun claims. Minseok bursts into laughter somewhere behind the shed as he dumps an old stack of shoots.

 

“I hear you rap when you’re in the shower and you’re just as brilliant, Oh Sehun,” Jongin flashes him a smarmy grin. “Stop whining and get back to work, brat.”

 

“This is supposed to be a girl’s job,” Sehun complains. “I feel so unmanly whenever I see the girls do it.”

 

At that moment Minseok reappears, his black wifebeater drenched with sweat at the neckline, and he pokes Sehun lightly at the back of his head. “Your dad and your dad’s dad did this for years. This is the ‘manliest’ job in the island,” he reminds him. “Or would you rather switch places with your older sister and weave doilies instead?”

 

Sehun grumbles in defeat. “When I get out of here, I’ll be an action movie star so I won’t have to thread this stupid banana ever again.”

 

Jongin sees Minseok tries holding back a grimace and fails. “How’s Qian, by the way?” he says, anxious to change the subject. Qian had been bed-ridden again for eight days. Jongin and Minseok had only seen her yesterday, getting a new batch of processed silk from the storage room. “She seems better.”

 

“Got the cook to make her ginger tea,” Yifan replies. He embeds his stringer into the stalk and pulls down. “It must’ve helped a lot.”

 

“I’m jealous, hyung,” Jongin jokes. “You’re spending so much time with Qian that we hardly see you anymore except when we’re working. Sehun might be bashing your godawful rapping, but he misses you most out of us three.”

 

Sehun slaps him on the face with a banana leaf but makes no move to contradict him. Yifan grins at them. “Let’s see if you talk after finding yourself a woman.”

 

“Or a man,” Sehun says cheerfully, earning a glare from Jongin.

 

“Whatever the case, let’s have dinner later,” Minseok interjects before another fight breaks out, laughing softly. He then turns to Jongin. “Bring Kyungsoo-ssi along too if he’s not busy.”

 

“Yeah. Aren’t you being too clingy with the new master? You’re acting like Jung Youngae when we were in high school,” Sehun teases, wagging his eyebrows suggestively. “Share a little, Jonginnie.”

 

Jongin tries to bomb Sehun’s foot with his heel but misses. Brat. “He’s been holed up in his room for three days straight,” Jongin tells them. “I wonder what he’s doing.”

 

“Well, go give him a knock!” Yifan says, making vague circles with his hands. Minseok hums in agreement.

 

“I actually saw him yesterday morning at the docks,” Minseok adds. “Walked all the way there. He was carrying his resignation letter with him.” His lips overturn slightly, wiping the sweat off of his forehead before threading again. “I offered him to ride back with me on the jeep.”

 

“Did he even talk?” Sehun asks, and Jongin elbows him.

 

“Be nice, kids,” Minseok chuckles. “He did. Just asked how long we’ve had the jeep. I’m not much of a chatterbox either, you know.”

 

“Must be a match made in heaven,” Sehun comments dryly. “Kyungsoo’s too… polite for me. I don’t know. He looks so haggard.”

 

“He’s having trouble sleeping at night, Sehun,” Jongin defends. Sometimes, he’s amazed at how his best friend takes the word ‘asshole’ to a whole new level. “And he works when he can’t sleep.”

 

“Well, his eyes give me the creeps,” Sehun says, shuddering. “He looks intimidating.”

 

Yifan shrugs. “That’s what everybody in town says. I overhead Qian and her friends talking about Kyungsoo-ssi while they were drying the carpets. Did something happen to him and his mom before they left? I was in China with Dad around that time so I have no idea.”

 

All eyes turn to Jongin except for Minseok’s, which are busy studying the stringer with unnatural intensity. “I don’t know – he never mentioned anything.” He tilts his head at Minseok curiously. “I only know Minhyuk and his wife had a huge fight, and she took Kyungsoo with her when he was six. Right, Minseok hyung?”

 

“Right,” Minseok answers. He looks troubled, and Jongin makes a mental note to talk to him in private later.

 

“Well, he needs to step up his game if he’s really made up his mind to stay,” Sehun says with a frown. “Chanhyuk’s and Youngmin’s greedy fingers are all over Daljong-myeon. They might convert this into a resort or something. Not that bad for us, but what about him?”

 

“It’s bad for us too. Resort and hotel owners are worse than loan sharks,” Yifan explains. “Especially to a town as tiny as ours. Kyungsoo-ssi must have realized that, so he stayed.”

 

“I still don’t like him, man. He has to make me laugh first,” Sehun declares.

 

Jongin rolls his eyes. “That’s not going to be a challenge. You laugh at everything.”

 

Sehun pokes out his tongue. “I’ll try to stay sober tonight. My mission will be to get in touch with Kyungsoo’s inner sense of humor. That is if he has one underneath that thick wall of lethargy.”

 

“Oh, don’t worry,” Jongin assures him, smirking. He thinks back on the time the older boy had told him straight-out that the broth Jongin made for him a few nights ago had tasted like bird piss. Kyungsoo said it like it was the least offensive comment he could think of, and Jongin had doubled over in laughter despite himself. “He has one,” he says. “It might be a little rough around the edges, but his sense of humor is just your style.”

 

Sehun’s eyes twinkle at the challenge. “You’re on. If he doesn’t turn into my favorite hyung before the night is over, you’ll have to do all my laundry for a month. Not that you guys aren’t my favorite hyungs already.” He turns to Minseok and Yifan with a grin.

 

“That’s a lost cause,” Jongin says with confidence, and Minseok flashes him a thumbs-up.

 

“You and Kyungsoo are getting along pretty well,” Minseok smiles. “It took you more than a week to warm up to him, but I’m glad.”

 

“It usually takes him two months so it’s a huge leap,” Yifan remarks jokingly, and they all laugh. Even Jongin, who’s usually a spoilsport when being teased, doesn’t fight the grin that spreads on his face.

 

…

 

Jongin gives the door three loud raps before calling, “Hyung? Hyung, it’s me.”

 

As if he’s said the magic words, the door slides open with a small creak. Kyungsoo is staring at him with big eyes. It makes Jongin feel slightly queasy, and he shifts from one foot to another. He chalks up the fizzing in his stomach to not seeing him for three days and inhales. “Have you had dinner yet?”

 

Kyungsoo must have detected something in his voice that he narrows his eyes a little. “No,” he says. “Why?”

 

“Sehun, Yifan hyung, Minseok hyung, and I are going to eat right now. Won’t you come with us?”

 

Jongin sees hundreds of questions flash before Kyungsoo’s eyes, but the other doesn’t voice them out. He bites his lips instead and mumbles, “Let me go change first.”

 

“We’ll wait for you at the gate,” Jongin tells him before Kyungsoo closes the door. As he’s walking down the hallway, it suddenly dawns on him that Kyungsoo’s right arm was bandaged. It creates a steady lump on his throat that Jongin finds difficult to swallow.

 

He meets the others outside, with Kyungsoo following suit five minutes after. Yifan and Minseok are both wearing their most cheerful smiles while Sehun makes himself look detached and unwelcoming. Kyungsoo greets them all with a bow.

 

"You don't have to do that, Kyungsoo," Yifan laughs warmly. "Let's all pretend we're of same age, yeah? We're not really big on formalities here."

 

"Especially for Sehun, whose politeness and self-consciousness are below sea-level," Jongin remarks, and Sehun scowls at him dutifully.

 

"Dad says you're – what was the word he used? – very diplomatic," Yifan grins at Kyungsoo, who blushes. "He says he's never been more relieved to know that you're the one taking over."

 

Kyungsoo stammers, "He's a very kind person."

 

"But your dad was way cooler."

 

Minseok lets out a tinkling laugh. "I really hate to interrupt the Daddy lovefest but how about we take this to another place? Kkobang? I'm famished."

 

"They make the best fried snappers," Jongin whispers at him, and Kyungsoo nods.

 

They leap out of the gates and take the winding path at the clearing. There are only a few streetlights working to show them the way, but Jongin and the rest have already memorized every street there is in town, so they walk through the path easily, chatting and imitating scenes from subpar dramas along the way.

 

However, Kyungsoo still isn't used to the hilly terrain at night, so Jongin lets him stick close enough that he can smell the clean scent of coconut from his hair.

 

Jongin's grateful that his friends aren't throwing Kyungsoo out of the loop by making inside jokes, though Kyungsoo probably won't mind the slightest. Sehun seems determined to make Jongin suffer a month's worth of chores, however, and ignores Kyungsoo for the rest of the walk. Jongin almost regrets accepting the bet.

 

They arrive at the small restaurant. Jongin absolutely loves eating at Kkobang _,_ especially at night when the sea breeze is strong and not too chilly, and there's that continuous stream of happy laughter that gradually makes their way out of their lips when the night deepens.

 

A lot of good memories have been made here. When Jongin was a first year in high school, he told himself that this was the place he'd probably miss the most when he left for college, a close tie with the Do manor and Hamija springs.

 

"Oh, I see we have a new addition to the fearless four!" Shinyoung, the ahjumma who owns the Kkobang, claps her hands in enthusiasm. She's another thing that Jongin loves about the place. Her smile is infectious, though she can be a little nosy at times. Living in a small town has made the people inclined to go to great lengths to acquire fresh gossip. Shinyoung is not an exception to that unspoken truth.

 

“Shinyoung-ssi, this is Do Kyungsoo. He’s Minhyuk’s son from the city,” Jongin introduces him.

 

"Of course I know him! You've got your mother's genes down to a t, Kyungsoo-ssi!” she says. “Such a relief – your father looked like a scoundrel, if I may say so myself. He was a good man but loud! Very loud! He used to scare away the customers when he got drunk. Luckily, he always brought his sons with him or I would have had to drag him out myself." She winks at Jongin, before putting a hand on her mouth, gasping. "I've said too much, haven't I? Anyhow, I'm Park Shinyoung."

 

"It's nice to meet you, Shinyoung-ssi,” Kyungsoo greets back with a velvety voice, but the strange flush showing on the skin on his collarbone betrays the nervousness he must be feeling. Jongin notices that Kyungsoo can pretty much hide all his thoughts and emotions except when he's nervous or embarrassed. "Thank you for taking care of Dad," he continues with a shy smile, his lips upturning into a heart shape.

 

Shinyoung practically coos at him, and Jongin laughs quietly at the side. Kyungsoo has unknowingly ensnared her already. "Nonsense! Minhyuk always acted on the town’s best interests. A noble man through and through! We don’t know what we’ll do without him," she takes out a notepad from her grease-streaked apron. "Now, what will you be having, dears?"

 

"Finally!" Sehun exclaims with a wicked grin. "I thought we'd have to wait for a century, ahjumma."

 

"We'll be having the usual," Minseok orders. "Plus some spicy crablets."

 

"Kimchi, please!" Yifan adds.

 

"Would you like to drink, Kyungsoo?" Minseok asks him, and Kyungsoo shakes his head.

 

"I'm not good at drinking," Kyungsoo confesses, folding the table napkin into three triangles. "The last time I did, I made... quite a racket."

 

"Blame your father for that one," Shinyoung says with a smile. "So, drinks good for four only?"

 

Sehun raises his hand. "I'm staying sober," he announces with a wink.

 

Shinyoung coos at Kyungsoo again before heading back to the kitchen. There’re only a few people inside the dining hall, which isn't a surprise. Now that school is already underway, there are only a few tourists spending their time in Gumseo. The number slightly increases during the winter because of the hot springs, and it also helps that the Silk festival falls in December, but they don't get as much visitors as they usually do when summer and spring arrive.

 

 "So," Yifan starts with a smile, "You can get away this time, Kyungsoo, but next time, you're drinking with us."

 

A drunk Kyungsoo. Jongin chuckles. That’s something he'd like to see someday. "Sehun's the best drinker out of all of us even though he's the youngest," Jongin tells him. "Minseok's the oldest but his tolerance is notoriously low."

 

Kyungsoo smiles slightly at the rim of his water glass. "And you are?"

 

"Moderate," Jongin says, but the other three protest in unison.

 

"You kissed Yura the night before high school graduation, don't you remember?" Sehun claims with a laugh, pounding his fist on the table. Kyungsoo jumps at the sound. "You were so out of it that you puked all over the sofa when we dragged you home. Minhyuk was furious!"

 

"He was not as pissed as Yura's mother when she found out the next morning," Minseok narrates, his face turning red. "Yura liked Jongin enough that she didn't rat him out to her mother, but her mom still knew. I know news travel fast in Daljong-myeon, but I was amazed. She almost took the door of the manor down, threatening to cut off Jongin's balls."

 

"Jongin might have been the reason why Yura had been shipped to Busan by her mother," Yifan says to Kyungsoo, whose eyes are scrunched into tiny crescent moons as he laughs.

 

"Do you always kiss people when you're drunk?" Kyungsoo asks Jongin in a hopelessly amused tone.

 

"Mostly, but not limited to people," Sehun answers for him. "Anything warm with a mouth will do. He kissed Captain Lee's dog once when we were eighteen. Only took him three swigs of Buryeong-myeon’s good ol’ frosty beer before he went outside walking in eights and did his dirty deeds."

 

Kyungsoo's eyes bulge out of its sockets. "That's dangerous, though. You could've gotten rabies."

 

"I'm immortal," Jongin proclaims dryly before scowling at Sehun. "And why are you only talking about me? You guys have done a lot more shit than I have even when you weren’t drunk!"

 

"It's better for Kyungsoo to know what he's getting himself into," Yifan says a matter-of-factly, and Minseok laughs at this.

 

At that moment, their dinner arrives. Minseok starts ravishing the crablets as soon as the platter lands on the table, and Kyungsoo divides the eggplant omelet into five equal parts, setting them all to their plates with scary, robot-like precision. Sehun cocks a delicate eyebrow at this but doesn't comment.

 

"Is Shinyoung-ssi the only one working in the shop today?" Kyungsoo asks out of the blue.

 

Jongin shakes his head. "Her husband cooks while she tends to the customers."

 

"Don't they have children?"

 

"Two. Both girls," Minseok says with his mouth full of rice before swallowing. "The youngest is around my age. She's in Busan too. I heard she's an accountant."

 

"The first daughter eloped with a guy from another town," Yifan explains. "Pretty messy story. She went straight to the docks and never looked back."

 

Jongin remembers the passing shadow when he was twelve. He had stopped by the village square to pick up the kilogram of pig feet Minhyuk had ordered in the market when he heard the horrible wailing inside the restaurant and the sulfurous whispers of the villagers. Jongin had been afraid the restaurant would close down because of the gossip, but luckily Shinyoung and her husband made it through.

 

Kyungsoo frowns at his reflection on the glass. "Everybody seems anxious to leave." Though Jongin's not sure if Kyungsoo is talking about his mom or someone else, it still leaves a heavy pressure on his chest.

"Well, every kid craves some sort of independence from their parents," Minseok amends. He takes a small sip of beer and licks the droplets that escape through the ends of his lips. "Living in a small island like Gumseo just amplifies it somehow, making angst-driven teenagers antsier to get out of their helicopter parents. But not everyone thinks like that. Look at Qian. She was a tourist when she came and she stayed for Yifan."

 

Jongin sighs inwardly, agreeing. It all boils down to the point whether or not you have something or someone in the island you never wish to part with, he thinks. Yifan and Qian have each other, Sehun has his family, and for Minseok, a memory. 

 

With Jongin's father-figure gone, it's just Minseok and Yifan, and the people who grew up with him. And Sehun too, whom he met only in high school but became quick friends as soon as he'd offered to help him with his Youngae problem.

 

Or maybe it's just that big part of him that wastes hours and hours thinking about things he would do and ends up not doing them at all. Perhaps it's just Gumseo-do, and an old, sleepy town too closed off from the outside world for him to look forward to anything at all.

 

Kyungsoo seems to understand it clearly, and doesn't ask any further. He listens to Yifan and Minseok argue about the upcoming storm this November, debating whether or not they should start the repairs of the tree house they built at the orchard.

 

Sehun then asks what Jongin has been itching to know since the start of the evening. "What's wrong with your arm, hyung?" he questions, pointing a finger at Kyungsoo’s side.

 

Minseok and Yifan halt their quarrelling as Jongin folds up the bulging sleeves of Kyungsoo’s sweatshirt, revealing thick, white gauze wrapped tightly around his arm. “I went to the hot springs today,” he says. “I cut my arm on the rocks when I fell.”

 

Jongin frowns deeply. “When did you go? I didn’t even see you leave your room for three days.”

 

Kyungsoo gives him a dry, half-smile. “I’m pretty sneaky.”

 

Jongin shrugs. “You should’ve told me you wanted to go,” he pouts, putting a hand over his chest. “I’m hurt. I thought you wanted me to show you around.”

 

“You thought that on your own,” Kyungsoo says, finally earning a laugh from Sehun _(“Told you you were acting clingy, Jonginnie”)_. “Besides, you looked busy.”

 

“Let’s go together next time, yeah?” Jongin says, pointedly ignoring Sehun. “I haven’t been there in ages. And we should try the cold springs near the Kolju waterfall sometime, though I think you’ll like it less. You hate the cold.”

 

“No need to be so greedy, Jongin-ah. Kyungsoo isn’t going anywhere,” Minseok chuckles. He raises an inquisitive eyebrow at Jongin.

 

Sehun agrees with his fork. “You should hang out with us too. We’re infinitely more interesting than that lowlife over there.”

 

“But let’s be honest. Jongin’s the better tour guide out of the four of us,” Yifan cuts in. He devours the last of the kimchi and pours himself another glass of beer. Minseok grins as Sehun sneaks a sip from the older’s mug. “If the town had a library of its own, Jongin would be head librarian.”

 

“He reads everything. Math, History, Science, murder-thrillers, cheap romance paperback novels, porn magazines,” Minseok enumerates with his stubby fingers. “He’s gotten Gumseo-do’s geography pinned down too.”

 

“Nerd,” Sehun summarizes with flair.

 

Kyungsoo chews on his snapper silently, his cheeks puffing a little. He stares at Jongin for a while as his Adam’s apple bobs when he drinks his beer, and it makes Jongin’s palms clam a bit.

 

Minseok stuffs the crablets into his mouth and points at Jongin with his chopsticks. “He graduated second of his class in high school,” he adds, his tone dripping with pride.

 

Still staring at him, Kyungsoo grins, eyes glimmering. “Just second?” he says, teasing.

 

“Seulgi came in first,” Jongin mumbles and fidgets in his seat. “I think she took Political Science in Ewha. She’s probably in law school right now.”

 

Minseok’s face is starting to take on a strange maroon color. “Wasn’t she the one who dumped you after dating her for two weeks?” he questions, his words slurring, and Jongin moans loudly. His friends are definitely having way too much fun picking on him with Kyungsoo as their audience.

 

“Oh yeah, I remember her!” Yifan slaps the table with a cheerful grin. “Who did the dumping anyway – Jongin or Seulgi-ssi?”

 

Sehun’s mouth is lightning fast that Jongin’s can only hope to compete. “It was Seulgi. I heard she told Sooyoung that Mr. Second Place is as interesting as a bag of rocks.”

 

“Like milk without cereal,” Yifan cackles. At that, Kyungsoo’s lips start twitching uncontrollably.

 

Jongin sighs, soothing the throbbing part on his head with his fingers. “We were fifteen, guys, and we’re still friends. We just wanted different things from each other so we broke it off.”

 

Sehun wrinkles his nose. “ _Ew_ , Jongin, who the fuck wants to hear about that?”

 

“She hooked up with me because she wanted me to be her _study buddy_ ,” Jongin snaps. “And I was just starting to figure out what I wanted, and after two weeks I realized it wasn’t a girlfriend I was looking for. Don’t get any wrong ideas.”

 

“Well, what was it?” Minseok asks, and Jongin shrugs.

 

“You guys already know,” he says archly, and that effectively shuts them up.

 

Yifan chuckles stiltedly. He pats his cheek as he swigs down another beer. “Placing second is still amazing,” he slurs. “Dad was too ashamed to look at me for a month when Mrs. Kim told him I’d barely passed Math. It was his strongest subject back in his day.”

 

“What place were you in, Sehun?” Kyungsoo asks too innocently, and Minseok, Jongin, and Yifan roar in laughter.

 

“Do you even have to ask?” Jongin says, wiping a tear from the corner of his eyes. Then, the youngest people in the table start javelining each other with carefully chosen swearwords, delving to their old, familiar routine of aimless squabbling. Minseok and Yifan will sometimes butt in to crack a joke or two, but for the most part, they’re content with just watching, drinking their livers away and grinning at Jongin and Sehun like proud fathers.

 

“Kyungsoo hyung,” Sehun says, interrupting Jongin’s monologue about the importance of blackboards. “Are you okay?”

 

Kyungsoo seems to be fighting back a yawn when he looks up at them from his plate. He’s the only purely sober one in the group, but he looks the most exhausted. Through the drunken stupor in Jongin’s brain, Kyungsoo looks like he might curl up in a ball in his seat and use the tablemat as his blanket any second now. “Yeah,” he blinks rapidly, as if he’s not altogether sure of his own answer.

 

“Do you feel sick?” Minseok asks.

 

“No.”

 

Jongin’s eyebrows furrow as Kyungsoo starts mumbling random, reassuring words. “You look like you’re about to pass out, hyung, and you haven’t even had a single drink,” he points out worriedly. “Are you tired?”

 

“I’m fine,” Kyungsoo insists, but his eyes are already drooping dangerously low.

 

Jongin holds him by his good arm and tugs. “We’ll get going,” he tells the others. “Finish the meal. I’ll pay for everything.”

 

Minseok eyes them both curiously. “We should come with you,” he says solemnly. “You’ve drank.”

 

“I only had one. Stop worrying,” Jongin says. He stands, and Kyungsoo follows him without a sound.

 

Kyungsoo apologizes and bows repeatedly before he gets dragged by Jongin outside. The beer had been strong enough for Jongin to feel rather drowsy even if he just drank one mug, but he steadies his knees and leads the way to the path. Kyungsoo must be so out of it that he threads his fingers around Jongin’s arm for support.    

 

Jongin almost contemplates on giving Kyungsoo a piggy-back ride but then decides against it. He’ll probably lose his balance with his gnarled thoughts buzzing in his mind like wasps, and he’s a hundred percent sure Kyungsoo won’t take a liking to being carried.

 

“You didn’t go to the soda springs, did you?”

 

Jongin has been waiting to ask him this without Sehun and the others to overhear. That cut on his arm is anything but from a fall on a rocky surface. His voice might have sounded a bit harsher than he intended when he feels Kyungsoo flinch slightly by his side. “You can tell me the truth, Kyungsoo hyung. Where did you go?”

 

Kyungsoo trembles against the sea breeze. "I went to Cousin Ryeowook this morning. To check on the looms," he says, his voice soft and almost inaudible.

 

"Oh," Jongin says. His chest deflates. Jongin had feared that Kyungsoo had gone to Dai. Though it seems rather out of character for him to go wandering the woods alone, Jongin can't help but worry. “Why did you lie to us then?”

 

“Well, if I said I went to the edge of town for business without telling you, you’d get mad,” his eyes flicker to Jongin’s face for a moment, before continuing, “But if I said I went to the springs to enjoy myself, I figured you’d be less angry.”

 

Jongin pauses before saying, “It’s scary how you know me already, hyung.”

 

Kyungsoo smiles ruefully. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to trouble you. Everybody seemed busy.”

 

“I’m supposed to be with you, remember? Besides, you’re still new here. It’s a good thing you only went to Ryeowook’s place,” Jongin responds. At the fringe of the town, it stands as a tipsy house near a cliff overlooking the ocean. It had probably taken hours for Kyungsoo to walk all the way there, but it’s infinitely better than waltzing around Dai without Jongin there. There is something in the forest that feels dangerous to him, besides the wild animals and the possibility of restless, wandering souls.

 

"I wanted to know how they work, the looms, so he showed me,” Kyungsoo continues. “We were in a stilt house and my arm caught on a piece of driftwood that stuck out while we were taking out his mother's loom from storage. But I'm really fine, Jongin. Cousin Ryeowook took care of me."

 

"I bet he did," Jongin says. Ryeowook is a friendly, reliable person that everybody in town has come to like. His face had been marred when their house had caught in fire when he was still a baby, but it seems that it mattered the least to the townspeople, especially when you're cheerful and warm all the time. Perhaps that's why everybody calls him 'Cousin', as some term of endearment. Jongin is glad that Ryeowook was the one who took him on a tour, but there's something in Kyungsoo's voice that makes him feel rather sour.

 

They walk in silence, Kyungsoo grasping his arm like a lost kid and fighting back a yawn once in a while. It startles Jongin when they're almost at the house when Kyungsoo starts humming, maybe to himself, maybe to the night goddess as thanks to the fair weather, but it sends tingles to Jongin's neck down to his toes. It's nice and familiar, like Kyungsoo's small hand on his arm.

 

" _Ode to the Evening Heavens_?" Jongin asks with a smile, and Kyungsoo nods drowsily. It's one of the songs they sing during the Silk Festival on the first full moon of December, when the tides are high, but the sea is calm. It's strange that even after so many years, Kyungsoo still remembers the tune.

 

Kyungsoo yawns for real this time. He looks really tired, but there's a smile on his face. "I like your friends. They're really nice."

 

"Nice is a stretch," Jongin says, faking a glower. "Just admit you love the fact that their all-time favorite hobby is to make fun of me."

 

"That too," Kyungsoo chuckles shamelessly. "But they're really nice and genuine. Sehun doesn't seem to like me that much, though."

 

Jongin recalls the loud laughs Kyungsoo had extracted from Sehun and says, "Oh, believe me, he does." He bumps his shoulder to punctuate the statement.

 

Kyungsoo grins, but it falters almost immediately, like his facial muscles are too exhausted to do so.

 

"Still can't sleep?" Jongin wonders out loud.

 

"It's not that I can't," Kyungsoo sighs. "I just can't… stay asleep for more than a few minutes."

 

"Are you homesick?"

 

"No," Kyungsoo replies, and he sounds a bit surprised at his answer. He recollects himself and says, "Seoul has to be my home for me to feel homesick, right?"

 

Jongin is shocked at this new information. "You really didn’t like living in the city?"

 

"Well, maybe it's not in a matter of loving it or hating it," Kyungsoo muses. "I guess it just felt wrong for me to be there – it feels wrong being here too, but it's just… all the time I've been there, I keep thinking that it's not the place I should be in." He then runs a hand to his curtain-like hair. "Sorry, I must be really sleepy. I'm not making sense."

 

Jongin snickers. "Honestly I'm a little tipsy right now, but I promise you I can understand." He can almost see the gate at this distance. "You need some rest, though, hyung. I know you're worried about the town, but fretting and exhausting yourself will do a lot more bad than good. You should take a break once in a while. See the hot springs for real this time."

 

"I have an awful lot planning to do if we want to impress Chanhyuk in five months," Kyungsoo says darkly. "I just want to cover the bases and see if there's something we can use."

 

"You're not a machine," Jongin tells him off gently. They arrive at the gate, and they slip off their dirty shoes in favor of the fuzzy slippers they keep in the living room. "There's such a thing as working too hard. I hope you get some rest tonight, okay?"

 

Kyungsoo nods softly before retreating to his room. "Thank you for dinner, Jongin. I had fun," he says quietly before closing his door, effectively shutting out the rest of the world.

 

Jongin wonders what Kyungsoo does every time the door closes, whether or not there is something in his room that haunts him.

 

…

 

He finds out the next day.

 

Jongin comes inside Kyungsoo's room and sees his desk littered with papers. There are a few written in English, and Jongin finally realizes that they're letters, with various pictures of the silk-making process attached to them neatly with metal paper clips.

 

Jongin holds out the tray the cook gave him. "Where should I put breakfast?"

 

Kyungsoo turns away from his laptop, looking slightly distracted. "Oh. Uhh, right here, please." He taps the space beside him on the mattress. "Thanks."

 

Jongin sits on the bed, easing his way against the desk while holding up the tray gingerly. He takes a spoonful of yeung chow as Kyungsoo stares at him wide-eyed.

 

“Say ‘ahh’,” Jongin prompts.

 

“I don’t like being fed,” Kyungsoo replies wryly.

 

Jongin puckers his lips towards his laptop. “Look, your hands are full,” he insists. “Open your mouth. The rice is getting cold.”

 

Kyungsoo seems to balk at the idea of Jongin sticking a spoon into his mouth but eventually relinquishes. Jongin watches as Kyungsoo’s lips dip towards the spoon, and there’s a sudden gnawing pain in his stomach as Kyungsoo darts his tongue to the sides of his mouth, capturing the grains that escaped. Jongin thinks that he must have some kind of gastric ulcer, which is strange since he doesn’t drink that much carbonated drinks or coffee.

 

Jongin shakes his head minutely. “Workaholics have to eat too,” he nags. “I’ll spoon-feed you if you forget eating breakfast, hyung, so please do. I don’t want to turn this into our daily morning routine.”

 

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes, chewing, but gets the message. He types another sentence on his laptop before gulping.

 

“I know it’s your job to go around and ask people for favors, managing the business to the tiniest detail, but aren’t you tired?” Jongin asks him. “You should rest.” 

 

“Maybe later, I guess,” Kyungsoo says quietly, and Jongin frowns at this.

 

He refills the spoon. “Were you always like this when you were in your previous company? Work first, live later?”

 

“You make it sound like it’s the worst lifestyle you could ever think of,” Kyungsoo snorts delicately.

 

Jongin doesn’t say that he finds Kyungsoo’s point-blank dedication endearing, and says instead, “It’s not bad to take care of the personal stuff first sometimes.” He holds out the spoon and Kyungsoo takes it again with his whole mouth.

 

“I _am_ taking care of it. Daljong-myeon is personal,” Kyungsoo says quietly. “I want to work hard because it’s important to me, and because it’s important to you too.”

 

Jongin bites his lip. “What you said last night…”

 

Kyungsoo looks at him sideways. “What?”

 

“You said that it felt wrong, you being here,” Jongin explains. He doesn’t know why he’s whispering – it’s not like there are any people around to listen to their conversation – but this, this feels intimate. Jongin notices that he only ever has talks like this with Kyungsoo, only ever feels both self-conscious and free when he’s around him.

 

Jongin clears out his thoughts and asks, “Why?”

 

Kyungsoo’s fingers stop their typing. He turns his head to Jongin, and really, really looks at him. “It’s not that I feel like I don’t belong here,” he begins unsurely, pausing and licking his lips. “It’s just that… I think the whole island is trying to tell me something. Don’t you ever get that feeling,” he says, his big, doe eyes piercing at Jongin’s soul, “That you’re missing something?”

 

Jongin doesn’t know how to answer to that. “Do you think it’s something important?” he says lamely, feeling awfully silly for even asking such a question. It’s obviously the main reason why Kyungsoo looks like a zombie every morning and absolutely avoids leaving his room unless necessary, with his eyes darting at the forest of Dai nervously through his window.

 

“… I don’t know,” Kyungsoo says. It could’ve been just his imagination, but Jongin’s brain clocks on the subtle look of disappointment on his face. “I really don’t, but I want to find out.”

 

 

…

 

The fireflies flicker around the paddy fields but their taillights go unnoticed as the sun continues to rise the next day. Two people walk side by side as they cross the winding path, almost going shoulder to shoulder as the trail runs narrower.

 

Kyungsoo is telling Jongin about the first (and last) time he went to an arcade in some flimsy attempt of running away – fear of dental appointments is a thing kid Kyungsoo and kid Jongin seem to share – and Jongin keeps his eyes on the lane, listening to the dips and locks of Kyungsoo’s sentences.

 

“I lost to a group of seven-year olds at a first-person shooter game,” Kyungsoo says. “I couldn’t shoot straight even if the monster almost occupied the whole screen. Those kids laughed at me, and when they were halfway through they called the rest of their friends to laugh with them. A twelve-year old boy sucking at video games was probably a sight to behold.”

 

“I couldn’t even imagine you playing on anything with pixels and a scoring platform,” Jongin says, unabashed. He notices that Kyungsoo’s glasses are a little crooked, and resettles them on his nose with the quick brush of a finger.

 

Kyungsoo looks at him for a while, before breaking into a tiny smile. Jongin suddenly tastes the sweet coffee – the one Kyungsoo had made for him this morning – from the tip of his tongue.

 

“I was good at cranes, though,” he says, his smile growing wider.

 

“Cranes?”

 

“Claw machines,” Kyungsoo explains. “It’s kind of a big metal box with a bunch of plushies inside, and you use a joystick to navigate the crane so you can get them. I got an Anpanman on my first try.”

 

“I know what a crane’s like.” Jongin laughs. “I’ve been to the city before. Cranes are really technical. No wonder it suits you.”

 

Kyungsoo pushes the hair out of his eyes as he glowers at him to hide the smile that almost forms on his face. At times like this, it’s easy enough to forget that Jongin still hasn’t solved all the riddles. To forget that, despite Kyungsoo’s smiles, there’s this deep sadness lingering at the tip of his lips.

 

And it’s astonishing, really, how easy it is for Kyungsoo to make Jongin forget how lonely he’s been all this time. Maybe some things work both ways.

 

They walk past a cart selling fruit tarts. Kyungsoo must have seen the way Jongin’s dark brown orbs have unconsciously drifted and trailed after it, and decides that he wants three boxes of the dessert.

 

“Ah, and who is this handsome young fellow, Jongin?” Mr. Jung, the gray-haired vender asks. He seems to always forget everyone’s names as soon as he meets them. Strangely though, he never forgets Jongin’s.

 

“This is my friend, Kyungsoo,” is what Jongin replies. It’s no longer _“This is Do Minhyuk’s son”_ or _“He’s the man who moved from Seoul.”_

 

My friend, Jongin thinks, as he watches Kyungsoo everyday from the corner of his eye, making spreadsheets and graphing outlines and sticking post-its on any available space on his bedroom wall. My friend, he thinks, whose mouth is pursed in a perpetual frown as he goes over the order forms, until Jongin knocks on the door and brings him snacks, and there’s that big grin on his face that says, _What took you so long?_

My friend, he sighs, who makes Jongin dizzy when he smiles.  He’s not sure what changed altogether, or who.

 

If Kyungsoo notices, he doesn’t comment on it. He only gives Mr. Jung his infamous wide-eyed stare, which alone would be creepy, and Jongin’s relieved that Kyungsoo’s smiling a little.

 

“Let me throw in an extra box since you’re my first customer today. It doesn’t have anything to do because of you, kiddo,” Mr. Jung says, winking. He ribbons the paper twine around the boxes and hands it to Jongin.

 

Jongin laughs in answer, bowing. “My lips are sealed.”

 

“It’s nice to meet you, Kyungsoo-ssi,” Mr. Jung gesticulates, smiling kindly. “You should come by and see my daughter sometimes. She’s around your age.”

 

Kyungsoo’s face rapidly turns prune-like, and before he could formulate a response, Mr. Jung tips his hat and wheels the cart away.

 

They fall silent for a second until Jongin lets out a cackle.

 

“She’s beautiful,” he tells Kyungsoo, hopelessly amused. “Jung-ssi’s daughter, I mean.”

 

“I bet she is,” Kyungsoo says lowly. He coughs out awkwardly, fidgeting at his spot, and Jongin can’t help but laugh. It’s truly not everyday he gets to see Kyungsoo so flustered.

 

“How do you do it?” Kyungsoo pipes up suddenly, and Jongin rips his gaze away from the weavers under the thatched roofs to look at him.

 

“Do what?”

 

“You know,” Kyungsoo gripes, his mouth wrinkled and his cheeks turning into an even darker shade of maroon. He’s not sure if he’s hot or put out or embarrassed or annoyed. Jongin still has a long way to go if he wants to memorize the strange variety of Kyungsoo’s expressions. “There’s something about you. I don’t know.”

 

Jongin cocks his eyebrow. He’s also not sure what that meant. “I’m the least complicated person you’ll ever find here in the island,” he tells him with a placating grin. “And I’m not that hard to read.”

 

“It’s more than that,” Kyungsoo says. “Everybody likes you, Jongin.”

 

“Are you jealous? I could teach you how to charm the crap out of people,” Jongin waggles his eyebrows, settling with teasing when he can’t make out what Kyungsoo is trying to say. It’s too small a town to make big enemies, and Jongin has always thought it is better that he gets along with everyone.

 

Kyungsoo frowns at him. “I don’t know, but it’s weird.”

 

Jongin snorts. “It’s not weird. Is it such a foreign concept to you? To like and be liked?”

 

Kyungsoo throws a punch on his arm. “No, it’s different with other people,” he mumbles under his breath. “I don’t even understand what I’m saying. But it’s… it’s…” And then he sighs, shaking his head drowsily like he’s giving up.

 

Jongin catches a glimpse of him absently pulling on the hem of his sleeve, and it goes something like that, like Kyungsoo has seen another of Jongin’s weak spots he never knew he had.

 

“Bears,” he remembers Do Minhyuk telling him as they walk through the path of the forest, brandishing a fishing pole to land a strike – gently – on his chest. “Wolves, other woodland creatures, people – most of the time, they forget that your head is a very important part. You’ve seen a lot of war movies, right? Sometimes people don’t even wear armor on their heads, because usually they don’t even think of chucking their swords at your brain.

 

“So they go for the heart,” Minhyuk said, poking eleven-year-old Jongin on the chest again. “If you want to protect yourself in the wilderness, whatever happens, protect your heart.”

 

And maybe, he thinks, as he steals a glance of Kyungsoo munching on his fruit tart with a thoughtful expression on his face, Jongin has never really listened to Minhyuk’s advice at all.

 

…

 

“You look like shit,” is the first thing Sehun says at the crack of dawn.

 

Jongin realizes he’s looking over his shoulder, and he whirls on his heels and sees Kyungsoo trudging on with his track pants, a mug of coffee in his hand and his laptop under his arm. His eyes are red at the rim and his mouth is pursed like he’s keeping himself from throwing up to put more caffeine in his system.

 

Kyungsoo stops to look at them, before mumbling a curt ‘good morning’ and crawling back to his room.

 

When the door shuts, Jongin looks back to Sehun, who eyes the room in consternation.

 

“What is wrong with that kid?” Sehun says out loud, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

Jongin kicks him on his shin. “He’s your hyung, you shit.”

 

“Look, he hasn’t gotten any sleep in like, thirty days,” Sehun gripes. “Is he in any hurry to die? Believe it or not, Jongin, I don’t want him to die. Just as soon as I find someone who likes watching anime as much as I do and he dies on me. Fucked-up shit like that happens even in this creepy island.”

 

“Well, he’s got a lot of things to do,” Jongin amends. “He has an important job.” _And working keeps my mind of things_ , Kyungsoo had told him once, when Jongin knocked on his door and asked him why he was still awake at four in the morning. _I like working. If I do my job, I get to think of nothing else._

 

Sehun grunts. “Yeah, go ahead and tell yourself that. Like lack of sleep won’t kill you as much as your real problems will. If I didn’t know any better, I would say you don’t worry about him like the rest of us do.”

 

“I’m – I’m just giving him some space. Kyungsoo hyung said he has a lot of things to sort out.”

 

“Whatever.” Sehun rolls his eyes and pointedly turns away from the hallway. Jongin sighs and follows him to the daechong. “He better not fall asleep tonight when we watch _Hitman Reborn!_ on his laptop.”

 

“You’re staying back later?” Jongin asks in surprise. He takes off his slippers and shuffles through the rack for his work shoes.

 

Sehun makes a rough, affirming noise from the back of his throat. “I asked him if he ha a copy of _Reborn!_ and he said he had, and he agreed to watch it with me.” He grins sideways. “The internet connection back in Seoul must be sick, Jongin. He even has all six hundred episodes of _One Piece_ saved on his computer. Too bad he doesn’t read that much manga or he’d be the perfect otaku.”

 

“Geeks,” Jongin says, rolling his eyes with a smile. He’d known Sehun would cotton up to Kyungsoo eventually, and Kyungsoo to Sehun, but he’s glad anyway that they’re getting along this quick. “Hope you guys have fun.”

 

“You can come if you want,” Sehun says as he rolls a barrel filled with mulberry leaves. He and Jongin push it up to the shade where they keep it with the others for storage. He groans an oath when his foot smacks on a small rock wedged on the soil, but recovers quickly.  “Some of the scenes would probably go over your head since we’ll be watching the fiftieth episode, but it’s great,” Sehun says. “You should come.”

 

“Nah. I’ll be bowing out on this one,” Jongin replies. “Keep Kyungsoo hyung happy for me until I get back.”

 

“That’s going to take a lot of work,” Sehun chuckles, and then stops. They lean on a wooden plank, their arms sore.

 

“I forgot it was today,” he whispers to Jongin. “Are you going to…?”

 

Jongin rubs the back of his head. “I can’t let Minseok hyung go alone, you know. It’s dangerous being on your own out there at night.”

 

Sehun nods stiffly. He clams his mouth shut.

 

…

 

Minseok meets him at the mouth of Dai with a bundle of catmints in hand. Jongin had probably been too young to remember, or high-strung enough to forget, but it must have been Luhan’s favorite, since Minseok has never failed to bring a batch every single year. Jongin wears the nicest pair of pants he owns just for the occasion, and he’s glad that Minseok doesn’t fuss over his torn jeans and disheveled hair like he did last year.

 

The older man lights up the gas lamp and away they go, into the forest deep within. Jongin distinctly remembers the exact tree root Kyungsoo tripped on the time they went trekking here in Dai. He lets out a chuckle before he can stop himself, and Minseok looks back at him with a curious glance, but he doesn’t say anything.

 

There’s another stretch of vines that has occupied the path. Minseok clears it out with a machete and breaches on.

 

“You can talk, Jongin,” Minseok finally says after a moment, slightly amused, and Jongin exhales the anxiousness he didn’t know he’d been holding until now.

 

“Umm, did you know that geishas style their hair according to the Japanese pagodas?” Jongin starts, holding up the tips of his own mahogany locks to mimic a tower. “Crazy, right?”

 

“Architecture must be a lot of things,” Minseok says – and Jongin can’t see that well, with the small orange light coming from the lamp, but maybe he’s smiling. Jongin hopes that he’s smiling. “Read that in one of hyungnim’s encyclopedias?”

 

Jongin nods earnestly. “Japan’s probably one of the strangest countries I’ve ever read about. Granted that we’ve been at each other’s necks for decades, but I don’t know. They’re just nuts.”

 

“There’s a lot more weirdness out there in the world,” Minseok says sagely. “You should go and seek them out yourself, Nature Boy.”

 

“Well, yeah, but there’s you. And there’s Minhyuk’s manor to worry about.”

 

Minseok flashes him an odd smirk. “I’m almost thirty, kid. I should do the worrying. And as for the manor, Kyungsoo and Renshu are all over it. You should really stop putting your life on hold for other people.” 

 

Jongin huffs softly. It frustrates him sometimes that, for all of Minseok’s wisdom, he doesn’t get it. This is one of those times. And it’s not just Minseok, if he’s being really frank. Everybody doesn’t understand.

 

Minseok, Sehun, Yifan, Yoorae, Kyungsoo – they’re not just ‘other people’ to Jongin.

                                   

 _“It’s not for me,”_ is what Jongin opts for answer instead.

 

Minseok sighs, waving a dismissive hand. “Whatever you say, Jongin.”

 

They’re at the half the point of Seomjung lake. He can tell by the outgrowth of reeds that extends far and wide across the direction of the coral lilies, and the vines that are starting to creep on the aspen trunks. Jongin wonders if Screecher is still awake tonight, or if his diabetes had already lulled him to sleep.

 

Jongin taps on his pant leg furiously, the silence making him anxious again. He’s heard them before, the voices, but Jongin can hear them more clearly tonight as they walk.

 

 _Jongin,_ they all whisper. _Where are you going?_

He hisses, and Minseok raises a curious eyebrow again.

 

_Stay put. We’ll come for you._

 

“Hyung,” Jongin mumbles, tugging on Minseok’s sleeve. “Let’s walk a bit faster. This place is giving me the creeps.”

 

They arrive at the lake shortly, and Jongin had guessed right that Screecher is already asleep. The lights in his hut are out.

 

They stay near the shore, where the soil has only started loosening and there are tiny minnows that dredge up and down as they swim past them. Minseok sets down the flowers as he lights up a small, circular candle and lets it float on the water. He paddles the water with a hand, and the small, gentle waves usher the candle, until the tiny flicker of flame travels far to the center of the lake, guiding lost souls.

 

Minseok closes his eyes, and Jongin follows his lead. He cups his hands on his lap, making a silent prayer.

 

When he opens them, Minseok is already unpacking the small picnic basket. There’re three packs of tuna sandwiches, a Tupperware full of chicken legs, and a dip of gravy and mayonnaise. Jongin hates mayo, but Minseok can’t seem to eat without it. He licks his fingers as he crunches the fried skin, and the juices and oil spill out like a miniature waterfall.

 

They leave one tuna sandwich untouched.

 

The lake is not that big. When winter comes, however, it turns into a skating rink much massive than the largest one in the cities. Jongin has never tried skating on Seomjung before since Minseok and Yifan always make it a point to hide his and Sehun skates during the winter so they won’t run off and do something dangerous. He’s not sure if Kyungsoo likes skating. Jongin will try to ask him, some other time.

 

Minseok is quiet and contemplative again, his chin tucked in between the folds of his arms as he sits and stares at the candle across the lake. Jongin wonders if Minseok sometimes has these problems too, keeping all the bad thoughts from eating him alive.

 

“How old was Luhan hyung?” Jongin asks, and Minseok looks up.

 

“Sixteen,” Minseok replies. He absently fingers the beads on his necklace, and then smiles. “But going by his face, he would look around twelve or so, just about your age at that time.”

 

Jongin remembers how Luhan’s father had berated him in front of them for being irresponsible, that they kept on losing one rooster from another in their farm because of his flighty son. Luhan’s free spirit had its wings slowly chipped off along with his warm smile, and soon the sallowness of his skin and the blueness of the bruises started to show.

 

“It wasn’t Han’s fault. There was a thief, you know,” Minseok says, as if he’s read Jongin’s thoughts. “He kept on stealing from the Lu’s chicken farm. Mr. Lu had been barking at the wrong tree, all that time.” He sighs. “I wish they never had fought.”

 

“Are you angry?”

 

Minseok narrows his eyes at him. “What?”

 

“Are you angry at Luhan hyung? Because he never talked to you about his problem with his dad?” Jongin asks.

 

Minseok purses his lips. “Maybe a little,” he says, sighing. “But I’m angrier at myself, because it was so obvious. I already knew there was something wrong, Jongin. I just tried to ignore it, like the rest of the town did, hoping it would go away.”

 

And it did, Jongin thinks. Luhan himself had gone away and never came back.

 

“We never did find anything,” Jongin mutters. “Maybe Luhan hyung is still out there.”

 

“I never knew Luhan to have such a twisted sense of humor,” Minseok quips dryly. “I’d leave that to Sehun and maybe Kyungsoo. It was hard to admit it to myself before, and it’s not easier now but –” he gulps loudly, and Jongin tilts his head to the side to look at him. “The forest has already swallowed him up.”

 

Jongin bites his lip before nodding. He thinks he sees a gleam of white in the darkness, but there’s only the candle and the flame. “He probably made himself the king of the forest,” Jongin finally says. He nods to himself. “He always liked grandiose, over-the-top shit for himself.”

 

Minseok smiles for real for the first time that night. He curls his hand around Jongin’s neck and gives it a brotherly pat.

 

…

 

The smell of ammonia fills the air as a stray dog relieves himself on a lamppost by the public market, and a store owner shoos it away while holding a butcher knife. Jongin meanders through the Sunday morning racket, hoping he can find lettuce wrappings and a pound of grilled meat.

 

“Good morning, Jonginnie!” Yoona greets. There are tiny splatters of water on her red apron, and the nail art on her fingers is chipped at the ends. She beats back the flies with bundles of straw attached to a bamboo stick. “Looking as handsome as always. Noona is worried someone will snatch you away from her.”

 

“You’ll always be my one and only noona, noona,” Jongin winks flirtatiously. “Who would feed me every two weeks?”

 

Yoona pouts. “Two weeks is not enough! You should come by everyday so noona can see you!”

 

“If work doesn’t keep me busy then I guess I can,” Jongin laughs. “One pound of meat, please!”

 

Yoona gives him a mock salute. She brings out a small ladle, scooping up the meat before dumping it into a small plastic bag. She puts it on a weighing scale and adds a few more scoops before twirling the tip into a tight knot. “Speaking of work,” she says after giving him change. “How’s Minhyuk’s boy doing?”

 

“Kyungsoo hyung?” Jongin blinks. “He’s fine. He’s on his way to kicking Chanhyuk-ssi’s butt back to Apgujeong.”

 

Yoona snorts. “City-bred prick. I want to dump his head on a crate full of fish someday.”

 

“You’re not the only one, noona.”

 

She laughs merrily, placing a delicate hand on her stomach. “I saw Kyungsoo-ssi a week ago. He went to Cousin Ryeowook’s place.” Yoona purses her lips in deep thought. “Do you think it’s okay to have him wandering around town alone?”

 

Jongin blinks back again in surprise. “Not really,” he mumbles. His right hand grips on his left bicep, turning his gaze to the ground. “But he likes going off on his own. It’s sort of his thing.”

 

“Well, I’m worried about ‘his thing’,” Yoona says, and Jongin silently agrees in his head. “He looks like a cruise ship has thrown him overboard and he’s now eighteen feet below the Pacific seabed.”

 

In his defense, it’s not that Jongin doesn’t notice. He’s going against his own nature trying to give Kyungsoo some space – he cheats at times, waking up at ungodly hours just to accompany Kyungsoo on his morning stroll and dragging him out of his room once or twice a week to eat. But most of the time Jongin leaves him be and just stands guard in the kitchen, watching the door to his room from afar. Jongin thinks Kyungsoo looks sadder as time passes, and the pain in his chest grows and grows.

 

“I don’t know if it’s right for me to ask what’s making him depressed,” Jongin tells her. “We’ve only known each other for a few months. All I know is that he can’t sleep at night, but he’s not telling me why. It might have something to do with the pressure on the silk business, but I don’t think that’s just it.”

 

Yoona seems like she’s going to say something, but she dams it back. She crosses her arms and sighs, “Gumseo-do is small, but sometimes it feels too big when you spend a lot of your time on your own.” Yoona eyes him critically. “Kyungsoo-ssi probably won’t tell you everything that’s bothering him, but it feels nice when you have somebody on your side.”

 

 _Work harder_ , is what Yoona seems to be asking of him. Jongin’s mouth sets off into a thin line and he nods gravely, thinking back on the times Kyungsoo had really smiled at him, and not just those fake, reassuring smiles that never really soothe him. Kyungsoo’s genuine smiles make Jongin’s face warm and his heart beat a tad faster, because he smiles like it’s only meant for him, and Jongin wants to see it again. He really, really does.

 

…

 

“Hey, isn’t that Kyungsoo?” Yifan asks. The strange note in his voice is enough for Jongin to make him look up from the magazine he’s reading, and not because of Kyungsoo’s name, most definitely. And it is Kyungsoo, laughing a little, with a man’s arms wrapped around his shoulders. Jongin immediately recognizes him as Ryeowook from the tipsy hut near Daljong’s borders.

 

“Why is he with Cousin?” Sehun asks. “I didn’t know they were close.”

 

At the front gates, Ryeowook tips his straw hat towards Kyungsoo, and the latter gives him a jaunty wave. He looks tired, but the smile reaches his eyes. Kyungsoo probably likes people who are proper and gentlemanly, not childish, excitable and daredevil boys. Jongin buries his face back in his magazine. “Maybe they are,” he says.

 

The look Yifan gives him is indecipherable. Jongin reddens and buries himself even deeper, hoping that the pages about Tutankhamun’s grave swallows him up. “Now that I think about it, why aren’t you out with your favorite hyung, Jongin-ah? Weren’t you supposed to take him out on your wild expeditions again?”

 

“Maybe Kyungsoo got tired of it,” Sehun deadpans while Yifan smacks him with his winnowing basket, and Jongin silently agrees.

 

Yifan shrugs. “As much as I love seeing Jongin enjoying himself with Kyungsoo all the time, we need all the help we can get for the silkworms. The peak of the breeding season is coming.”

 

“I know that,” Jongin says, and he can’t keep the bitterness from latching on his voice as he watches Kyungsoo walk back to the manor with a new scarf wrapped around his neck, and Jongin suspects that Ryeowook probably made it himself.

 

…

 

The light bulb seems to have only a small amount of juice left. Jongin squints hard as he tries to make out the words he’s reading on page 472 of a random geography book he took from his shelf. He’s been at this for an hour, flipping through highlighted pages and grimacing at how awful his handwriting was at twenty-one. He stretches his limbs with a tired sigh, scratching his belly with his page marker.

 

The knocks come before the muffled voice. “Jongin?”

 

Jongin rises from his seat and moves to open the door. His shock is apparent when he realizes who it is that came calling at eleven in the evening. “Hyung?” he says.

 

Kyungsoo’s eyes dart to the book and light on his desk, and his face falls. “Oh. I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t know you were working. I should –“

 

He’s about to leave when Jongin grabs his wrist, and Kyungsoo yelps in surprise. Jongin realizes that he must have held on too tightly and loosens his grip. “What’s wrong?” he then asks.

 

Kyungsoo starts chewing on the inside of his cheek and sighs. His skin is sallow and papery, and he’s shivering slightly. He looks at Jongin from under the tips of his bangs and smiles sheepishly. “I think I’ll need those earmuffs after all,” Kyungsoo says softly.

 

Jongin tugs his wrist, pulling him closer. He cups his hands over Kyungsoo’s ears. The air separating their bodies feels charged and hot. “Better?” Jongin inquires with a crooked grin.

 

He’s rewarded by a ghostly chuckle. Kyungsoo lightly bats his hands away, faking a glare. “I can still hear you,” he points out.

 

Following his instinct, Jongin wraps his arms around Kyungsoo’s upper body, sighing and squeezing him tightly. Kyungsoo tenses and doesn’t hug him back at first, but as the clock ticks the minutes away, his shivers slowly die into a quiet trembling until there’s nothing more, and Kyungsoo’s hand flies to grip on the end of Jongin’s sweater. Jongin blinks rapidly as he tries to shoo away the intense prickling at the back of his eyes.

 

 _Hyung_ , Jongin asks in his head. _What’s going on? Why can’t you sleep? Please tell me what’s making you sad all the time._

He releases Kyungsoo and looks at him. There’s still darkness dripping on the ends of his eyelashes, but it’s not as bad as it once was.

 

Jongin leads him inside the room, and Kyungsoo quietly follows. He turns off the lamp on his desk. The bed isn’t that big enough for the two of them, but it’ll have to do. Jongin sits on the mattress, tapping the space beside him, and Kyungsoo hesitates as a million thoughts flash through his big, round, dead eyes.

 

He finally relents to the promise of a good night’s sleep and takes his slippers off. Jongin fluffs the pillow and backs himself up against the wall where the edge of the bed rests, and then throws a blanket over them. He can smell the coconut shampoo on Kyungsoo’s hair again as he sidles close to him, trying to make most of the space, and Jongin breathes it in.

 

Having Kyungsoo lying next to him is so breathtakingly familiar that it burns deep to his heart’s core, and it hurts. Jongin’s twisted brain however orders his hands to slither around Kyungsoo’s waist and pull him closer again until there’s only an inch separating their faces. It’s dark, but Jongin can see the inky blotches underneath Kyungsoo’s eyes, and he tries to keep his gaze from going down south, where he’ll see Kyungsoo’s soft lips opening a little in surprise.

 

He feels Kyungsoo’s thundering pulse underneath his fingers. It slowly steadies as his eyes droop sleepily.

 

“You were reading a college textbook,” Kyungsoo whispers. It’s more of a statement than a question. His breath fans over his face.

 

Jongin watches as his eyelids flutter to a close. He answers, “It’s interesting.”

 

Kyungsoo yawns. “You must’ve been a really good student before.”

 

“I was the worst in my class, hyung. Don’t put me on a pedestal.” It’s not exactly a lie, but Kyungsoo really doesn’t have to know. Jongin thinks it’s not that important to warrant Kyungsoo’s attention, anyway.

 

Kyungsoo tilts his head a little, telling him he heard, but doesn’t give a verbal response. His breathing steadies along with his heart rate into a slow pace, and Jongin almost cries in relief. Kyungsoo looks so peaceful when he sleeps.

 

Jongin pulls back the thin, silky hair covering Kyungsoo’s forehead. It’s gotten so long over the past month. He decides to take him to the barber’s next morning as soon as he finishes restocking the mulberry leaves for the sericulture.

 

He settles with memorizing every inch of Kyungsoo’s face before letting the darkness take him too.

 

…

 

 

Kyungsoo doesn’t come back to Jongin’s room again after that night, thinking that it must have been a one-time thing. Knowing him, he’s probably embarrassed to ask for Jongin to sleep with him again. Jongin is itching to invite him to his room, but he stops himself every time he tries to get the words tumbling out of his mouth, worrying about how horrible it will sound.

 

That night had done wonders to Kyungsoo. He was visibly brighter the next morning, and his eyes weren’t as dead as they used to be. Sehun even joked that Kyungsoo’s soul must have crept back into its body the evening before, and Kyungsoo kicked his thigh with a grin as an answer.

 

But the relief runs like a defect tap. A few days later, the dark circles underneath Kyungsoo’s eyes are back, and Jongin can almost hear him panting for breath as he trudges all over the manor, carrying his laptop bag with him and observing the weavers from the daechong. Jongin passes by Kyungsoo’s room at three in the morning, and through the small slit under the door Jongin notices that the lights are still on.

 

It gets worse in November. Winter is coming, and the slippers are no match to the cold that invades their home, clinging to the wooden floorboards like a weed even when Yifan has turned on the ondol. Kyungsoo makes three round trips to the docks every week to deliver the tapestries on Minseok’s jeep. One time, he doesn’t notice that his glasses have already slipped down from the bridge of his nose and have fallen to the ground. A nice village kid runs after them and hands it to him, and Kyungsoo’s too dazed to properly say ‘thank you’.

 

“Hyung,” Jongin says. They’re at the gazebo again, their hands rammed deep inside the pockets of their jackets. Kyungsoo is staring at the woods beyond the open gates like a lifeless creature. “You know you can tell me everything, right?”

 

Kyungsoo doesn’t say anything but offers him a smile. It’s a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s a fake one again, outnumbering Kyungsoo’s happy grins by another thousand. It doesn’t make the pretty heart shape that Jongin has grown to love, and it looks so wrong.

 

…

 

Jongin thinks the odds of Minseok holding up for the duration of the night are pretty low. Losing for nine consecutive rounds in slap cup has made the eldest maroon in the face, and Jongin and Sehun have to half-carry, half-drag him all the way to his tiny hut near the manor while Yifan carries a lamp on one hand and a plastic bag on the other.

 

“He’s not going to make it, is he?” Sehun says, his face doing this ugly, squirming expression as he tries to haul his hyung back to the trail. Jongin is too drained to answer, and settles with a loud grunt as they forge on.

 

They’ve already passed the paddies and are heading towards the gates when Minseok’s stomach lurches, and he taps frantically on Jongin and Sehun’s shoulders to let him go.

 

“Shit,” Yifan eloquently curses, helping Minseok up and pushing him towards the safety of the rocks.

 

Minseok apologizes wearily before throwing up again, and Jongin grabs the back of his shirt to keep him from slathering puke all over his clothes.

 

Sehun sighs. “How the fuck can you call yourself a man, hyung? You can’t even last for more than three beers,” he huffs, but he pats Minseok’s back repeatedly and smoothes out the tense muscles with his slender fingers.

 

“Shut the hell up, you brat,” Minseok says weakly before throwing up at the rocks again. “And that’s 500 won for the swear jar.”

 

Yifan ties up the ends of the plastic bag and throws it next to a nearby patch of grass. Then he laughs, and Jongin and Sehun laugh too, until even Minseok is snorting in between chokes, and really, this is going to be another one of those stories they’ll laugh at in the morning. And in the future, they’ll probably get hammered again and laugh at it until one of them is puking his guts on the same pack of rocks. Jongin thinks that there’s nothing new at this at all, and decides that he’ll never grow tired of it.

 

“You’ve got a bit of something on your chin,” Yifan jokes, and Minseok gives him a death glare before chuckling again.

 

A flash of white catches Jongin’s eye. He looks up.

 

The entrance to Dai is just a few yards ahead of them, and from where he’s standing he can see light coming out of the canopy above, blinking like Morse code. The beam reaches indefinitely to the moonless horizon, and Jongin squints until he’s sure he can see the light coming from the mouth of the woods.

 

Jongin turns to Yifan. “Hyung, did you see that?”

 

“Huh? What?”

 

“Look, there’s –” Jongin whips his head back, but the light beam is gone, and his jaw drops as he stares at the sky in confusion. “That’s funny,” he says. He feels his stomach drop to the ground; he has a bad feeling about this. “I thought I saw something.”

 

“That’s probably because of the beer, bro,” Sehun concludes, still rubbing circles on Minseok’s back. “You’re not exactly as drunk as this hyung over here, but you’re damn close.”

 

Jongin licks his lips, thinking. He then makes a grab for the gas lamp. His heart is thundering in his chest. “No, I’m fine. You guys go ahead. I’m going to check it out.”

 

Minseok groans loudly in protest and blindly reaches out for Jongin’s pant leg. “Stay put, Jongin!” he orders. His voice has gone up an octave. “Don’t go in there. It’s almost midnight and it’s fucking dark!”

 

Jongin shakes him off lightly. “Don’t worry, hyung. I’ll be back in a sec. I’m not going past the markers.”

 

“Are you kidding me? This isn’t the time for one of your crazy adventures, Kim Jongin! Listen to me –”

 

“I promise I’ll be back.” And Jongin runs, not waiting anymore for Minseok’s response. With the rusty lamp cringing as he dashes to the vines, he maneuvers his way into the forest as his sandals crush a few of the dandelions in his haste.

 

The yellow light is dim, but it’s enough to show a bit of the path. Jongin takes slow, tentative steps when he passes the boulders crusted with club moss, and his soul jumps out of his body when a sparrow zooms above his him, missing his head by a couple of inches.

 

Minseok, Yifan and Sehun feel so far away from him now. 

 

His peripheral vision makes out the slightest movement, and Jongin quickly jams the lamp to his right side, only to find a gecko sitting on a dead log. The reptile gawks at him contemplatively, and Jongin lets out the breath he’s been holding and moves on.

 

After a few more yards, he hears a sudden crack, and Jongin yelps embarrassingly loud. He grips his lamp tightly and holds up his foot.

 

A small branch has been split into two pieces.

 

Jongin swears angrily under his breath. “Goddamn it, Jongin, get a hold of yourself,” he mutters.

 

He steadies his pace and breathes evenly through his nose. He sees himself shrink against the towering tree trunks and the sound of the crickets gathering around to watch him as he walks through the path, with nothing but the small flicker of his gas lamp to light up the way.

 

There are small, almost nondescript footprints straying away from the trail. Jongin rakes in a deep breath and follows.

 

 _Jongin_.

 

A chilly gust of air knocks the breath out of Jongin’s lungs, only there aren’t supposed to be any winds in this part of the forest.

 

_Where are you going, Jongin? Don’t go._

The voice makes Jongin stop dead on his tracks. He spins on his heels, whirling his lamp in every direction.

 

There’s no one around.

 

 _Don’t leave me here, Jongin_.

“Come out,” Jongin squeaks. His nails are digging painfully on his palms as he holds out his lamp a bit higher. “Who the hell are you? Show yourself!”

 

 _Jongin,_ the voice whispers directly to his ear. _Jongin. Jongin. Jongin._

A blinding light hits Jongin squarely on the face, and he holds up his arm to shield himself.

 

“Jongin?” somebody says.

 

The light is gone. Jongin blinks multiple times and shakes his head to clear his vision, squinting. His eyes widen automatically when he sees Kyungsoo in front of him, holding his flashlight like a saber.

 

“H-hyung?” Jongin asks when he finally stops himself from shaking. His voice cracks at the end of the syllable, making him sound like a mouse. “Kyungsoo hyung?”

 

“Hello,” Kyungsoo says quietly. He turns his flashlight off, and Jongin can’t see much of his face anymore.

 

Jongin’s foot pauses for a split-second in mid-air until his brain urges him to come closer. The yellow light slowly creeps up to show the muddy state of Kyungsoo’s jeans, up until the beam softly illuminates the elder’s face.

 

It’s almost hard to tell, but Kyungsoo’s owlish eyes are bloodshot.

 

Jongin chokes back a sob. “Hyung, have you… have you been crying?”

 

Kyungsoo tilts his head down and lets out a shaky breath. He doesn’t give Jongin an answer.

 

It takes a lifetime’s worth of self-control for Jongin to stop himself from asking him a million questions. He bites his lower lip until he tastes the familiar tang of blood, and he slowly makes his way towards him until they’re only about an inch apart before tugging on the end of Kyungsoo’s sweater.

 

“Let’s go, hyung,” Jongin whispers to him. “Let me take you home.”

 

Kyungsoo nods. They walk back to where they can see the markers again, the whole forest of Dai quiet except for the loud thumping of Jongin’s heart echoing through the night. Once in a while he catches himself looking to his right, making sure Kyungsoo is still with him, and he is every time Jongin checks, and Jongin puzzles over the tightness he feels in his chest.

 

In the entire trip, Jongin keeps his distance, afraid that Kyungsoo will break once he touches him.

 

It takes them a while, but Jongin looks up and finally sees the skies. His friends are no longer there when he walks back to the same spot; they must have already gone home.

 

Kyungsoo follows him silently as they go, and when they finally arrive at the daechong, Jongin lets a protective arm fall around Kyungsoo’s shoulders. To his surprise, Kyungsoo doesn’t balk and instead leans to his touch. His skin is sickly pale as the lights from the gates pass over his face.  Jongin doesn’t shy away from the painful swelling in his chest this time; he almost welcomes it.

 

They take off their shoes. Jongin then hands Kyungsoo his slippers. “Do you want to sleep in my room tonight?” he asks him.

 

Kyungsoo nods as he slips them on. “Yes.”

 

Together, they walk down until they reach the end of the hallway, the floorboards creaking as they go. Jongin is thankful that the wooden windows aren’t rattling as they were last night.

 

Jongin unlocks the door and leads Kyungsoo into the room who waits to the side as Jongin places his jacket on the hook behind the door. Snaking his fingers in between the spaces of Kyungsoo’s trembling ones, Jongin lets him fall to his bed, mirroring the position they had a few nights ago.

 

The posts squeak at the added weight. Jongin backs himself up the wall until there’s more space for Kyungsoo to slide next to him.

 

“Is this okay?” Jongin asks when he sees the frown on Kyungsoo’s face. “Are you comfortable?”

 

Kyungsoo’s eyelids flutter to look at him. “Yes,” he answers. His pupils are dilated. “Yes, this is okay.”

 

He can feels Kyungsoo’s heart hammering against the skin on his arm, giving him goosebumps, and Jongin’s own pulse picks up as well.

 

 _Why were you in the woods, Kyungsoo? What the hell where you doing in there?_ Jongin almost blurts, but instead he says, “You’re really weird, hyung.”

 

Kyungsoo freezes at first, and then relaxes. He might have heard him wrong, but he thinks he hears a breathy chuckle leave Kyungsoo’s lips, his small frame quaking at the action.

 

“I’m sorry for being weird,” Kyungsoo apologizes with a small smile, and Jongin’s heart melts.

 

He eases them up to the pillow and makes sure that Kyungsoo is covered well with his blanket. He bites his lip before asking, “Can I hug you again, hyung? Like last time?”

 

“You’re already holding me,” Kyungsoo reminds him, and Jongin’s glad that his voice sounds stronger than it was back in the woods.

 

Jongin readjusts their position and slides an arm underneath him. He pulls him in and makes sure that Kyungsoo is warm before he closes his eyes.

 

…

 

 

 

“Let’s go to the hot springs today,” is what Jongin announces to his friends one particularly chilly Friday morning. Sehun laughs at him for a lifetime before finally agreeing, while Minseok only gives him a vigorous nod. Yifan seems both pleased and relieved that he will be spending a weekend away with his friends instead of camping again in his house where Qian will nag on him endlessly to cut his hair.

 

Jongin finds Kyungsoo mopping the floors while the maids are watching him with alarm. The ladies are lyrically asking him to stop, telling him it’s really their job to clean after the house, but Kyungsoo keeps waving them off.

 

He thinks that Kyungsoo looks so wretched that he could pass off as a corpse doing chores, but doesn’t voice it.

 

“Let’s go to the hot springs today,” Jongin repeats with a cheer, and Kyungsoo turns to him with no expression whatsoever on his gaunt face. “You seem like you could use the distraction, anyway,” he adds, pointing at the mop.

 

Kyungsoo reluctantly agrees and drops the mop, and Jongin and the maids rejoice. The younger man immediately hauls him to his room to change.

 

"We'll stay for a whole weekend out?" Kyungsoo asks, his lips puckering unconsciously.

 

"Oh, don't get all pouty on me. You know my frail heart is weak for that." Jongin beams. "You could afford to be out on a trip for two days. Regular people have _fun_ on weekends, hyung, and not just work."

 

"I love working," Kyungsoo replies fervently. "Working is my weekend getaway."

 

"I don't doubt that one bit," Jongin says. "But I owe you a hot spring cruise, and I never back out on my promises. This is Kim Jongin we’re talking about."

 

Kyungsoo settles for a dry smile. "Tall, tan, outdoorsy. Typical Country Boy Kim Jongin."

 

"At your every beck and call." Jongin goes for a mock salute, smirking at him.

 

When they finish packing, they all dump their things on the back of the jeep. Sehun gets to ride shotgun as Minseok drives, while Jongin is slotted in between Yifan and Kyungsoo.

 

It's a bumpy ride. The way to the Hamija hasn't been cemented yet; Jongin thinks the mayor or any of his successors really have no actual plans on smoothing out the rough pavement. It's the hard hike up the hill that gets to the tourists, makes it a good tale to tell your friends on a formal dinner or a bedtime story to your kids. It's the journey more than the actual destination as they say, or so Jongin has read in one of his books.

 

They're halfway across the hill. Yifan laughs at the way Sehun's teeth are chattering as he talks.

 

"Say, Jongin," Kyungsoo speaks up after a while. He has to yell for Jongin to hear, his husky voice battling against the sound of the jeep's rattling engine. "How long would it take for you to walk around the whole island? Will it take just one day or more?"

 

"You want to explore the island on foot?" Jongin shouts back. The wind is chilly and piercing on his neck. He brings up his collar to protect his flushing skin. "For one day?"

 

"Is it possible?"

 

"It is," Jongin replies. "Gumseo-do's only sixty-three kilometers if you go by circumference. You can walk the entire thing on foot for exactly 23 or 24 hours, or 15 to 18 if you go non-stop."

 

"You planning on heading out someday, Kyungsoo?" Yifan asks, and Kyungsoo nods.

 

"Has anyone tried it before?"

 

"No," Sehun says. "At least none of us kids have. You'd be too crazy to start circling around Gumseo-do at 5 in the morning and finish at 5 in the morning the _next_ day. The adventure won't be worth the millions of holes on your branded shoes, hyung."

 

Kyungsoo looks mildly surprised. "Not even Nature Boy has done it before?" he questions, jamming his thumb at Jongin's direction, and everyone laughs. Minseok, to Jongin’s amazement, laughs the loudest.

 

"Sadly, no," Jongin explains. "I might have had all the time in the world when I was a kid, but things got a little busy. There was school," Sehun groans at this. "There was conscription too, and your dad got me as his primary attendant so I really hadn’t thought about it.”

 

"Ahh." Something then clouds over Kyungsoo's face, but it leaves just as quickly as it came. "You can do it someday, Jongin. Since you have, you know, no one in his fifties to look after anymore."

 

"Are you kidding? He has you, Kyungsoo," Yifan says with a bright grin. "You sure you're not in your fifties yet?"

 

"I’m sure," Kyungsoo says with a smile. He seems to have gotten around Yifan's crooked sense of humor, as well as with the others, and Jongin can't help but feel slightly relieved. He really wants Kyungsoo to feel welcome with his friends. "After all, I’m not the one whose seatbelt won’t buckle," Kyungsoo chimes back, and Sehun pounds on the dashboard while rocking in laughter.

 

"Touché. You never miss a shot, do you?" Yifan stretches his seatbelt across his tummy while grinning in approval. "Good thing you don’t take after your father."

 

"Hyungnim's one-liners were rocket science," Sehun exclaims. "Nobody in the world of the living got them. Except Jongin. They were actually at a tie-breaker for throwing the world's lamest jokes."

 

Jongin mightily kicks Sehun's from the backseat, and Minseok yells at them by the front mirror, "Get a hold of your panties, kids! I just got the upholstery refurbished!"

 

Kyungsoo swoops in and comes for the save. "He does say a lot of strange things, but I think that’s one of Jongin’s charms," he says and smiles at him.

 

Jongin thinks it's probably okay for him to slide a hand over Kyungsoo's thigh, so he does. “Let's have that adventure around the island someday,” he whispers to his ear. “When these three annoying butts are out doing their own business or something."

 

"Let's," is Kyungsoo's only reply before turning to look at the rapid change of foliage outside. There's a deep flush on Kyungsoo's cheeks, and it's probably Jongin overstating things, but even through the cotton, he can feel Kyungsoo's thigh warm up to his touch.

 

They arrive after a long, bumpy ride, and none of them mention Kyungsoo using Jongin’s shoulder as a headrest. It’s been a tiring journey.

 

…

 

Sehun, for all his usual tortoise speed, is the first one to finish unpacking back at the inn and the first one to dive-bomb to the pool. Kyungsoo arrives the latest after taking a worried call from his mother. Judging from the tight skin around his mouth, it’s safe for Jongin to say that it didn’t go well.

 

Minseok must have noticed too, and flicks warm water on Kyungsoo’s face. Kyungsoo retaliates with a kick, sending a huge splash that has Minseok backing up a few paces.

 

Sehun and Jongin join in as they sing a jumpy folk song about a whale playing godori with a local fisherman. Some of the algae growing on the cracks in between the wet rocks stick under Jongin's fingernails as he holds onto the ledge for support, splashing waves and waves of spring water their way. Yifan sings along with them, cracks open a bottle of beer and drinks as he laughs.

 

Kyungsoo and Minseok hold a truce and gang up on the maknaes, cornering them in the swampy spot of the spring. Minseok pins Jongin down with a feisty catapult of scalding water, while Kyungsoo dunks Sehun's head and threatens to drown him.

 

Jongin grins when the battle ends. The huge beam of triumph on Kyungsoo's face is worth the hundred gurgles of spring water Minseok made him do.

 

Yifan has them all drinking as soon as they finish, except for Kyungsoo, who opts to stare at the fishing net above that prevents the falling leaves to clutter around the pool. The air around them is cool but the spring water is hot. Jongin's face is either tomato red from the drink or the water, he honestly can't tell.

 

"The ship took off to Pohang just this morning," Yifan says, all business-like. "That's the eight week we've been sending stuff to the harbor. We're busier than the fish port."

 

"The villagers aren't complaining anymore, thanks to a certain somebody," Minseok winks at Kyungsoo, who blushes. "Kyungsoo's good at what he does."

 

Kyungsoo shakes his head. "Not really. I sent letters to cities and sent them photos of the textile work here, and they said they're interested and ordered some stuff. There's really nothing to change here. I just did promotion."

 

"You're brilliant," Minseok gleams. "Jonginnie said you worked on advertising before."

 

"Yeah. For almost a year."

 

"I pity you, hyung," Sehun calls from the edge of the pool. "It must be some boring office job that gave you twenty more years. I'll take you on a ride next week with Mr. Ding's herd of water buffalos near the rice fields to shake the dullness away."

 

Yifan laughs and nods. "Good idea. Mr. Ding could use a new assistant. All of his sons are in Busan right now."

 

"The twins?" Jongin exclaims. Seokjin and Seokhyun are around Jongin's age and were one of his closest friends when they were in high school. "They're in the mainland right now?" Kyungsoo's eyes flicker to him for a moment before he returns his gaze to the net again.

 

"They’ll be back, Jonginnie," Minseok says. His face is warm and flushing hard; he drank more than four bottles of beer on his own. "It’s not like they're going to cause trouble without you as the mastermind, anyway. They're doing their military service right now. They’ll be stuck in the barracks, eat salt fish for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and trying to sneak in pornos from the cook distributing them in the cafeteria." He shakes his head emphatically. "Everyone came out weird after those twenty-one months in camp."

 

"Not excluding you, of course." Yifan smirks. "It took a while for me to adjust to your mangled sleeping patterns."

 

"I'll probably go next year after I speak with my pops. It'll be nice to get out of the island for once, even if I end up getting paddled by the officers-in-charge," Sehun says.

 

Yifan makes a vague wave with his hand. "Had any fun experiences in the military you want to share, Kyungsoo?"

 

Kyungsoo seems to think about it for a moment. Jongin fleetingly admires the way his wet hair parts exactly to window his eyes. "Nothing, really. The food was utter crap, but nothing out-of-the-blue I can think of."

 

They go on for hours like that. It has been a full two years since Jongin has done anything like this, going on a vacation with his friends in arguably the best place in Gumseo-do during the winter. It seems the same thing goes for Kyungsoo, and Jongin guesses that it must be the reason why it takes a few more hours of soaking in the pool in silence before he stops hesitating to jump in on the conversation every once in a while without being asked.

 

And Jongin thinks it’s probably that, or the fact that Sehun had deftly spiked Kyungsoo’s soda with alcohol that he leans onto Jongin closer than he would usually allow when he’s sober. The sides of their wet bodies are touching when he lays his head on Jongin’s shoulder. Kyungsoo’s whole upper body is astonishingly pale as his eyes are dark, slender but oddly firm. Jongin gives in to the temptation of touching his hair and staring at him once in a while, counting the droplets that fall from his eyelashes.

 

“Hyung, are you seeing anyone right now?” Sehun asks, and Jongin hopes that Kyungsoo is drunk enough not to feel him go rigid at the question. “Or did she break up with you when you decided to stay here?”

 

Kyungsoo slightly lifts his head from Jongin’s shoulder. “Me?” he says sleepily.

 

Sehun raises an eyebrow. “Yifan hyung’s married, Minseok hyung’s hopelessly in love with Soonkyu noona, and Jongin’s bitter and gay. That only leaves you.”

 

Yifan chuckles. “He’s drunk, Sehun-ah, no thanks to you. Leave the poor kid alone.”

 

Jongin can only manage a glare before Kyungsoo turns to face him with half-lidded eyes. “You’re gay?” Kyungsoo asks drowsily, his lips making a beautiful pout as the words settle on his mouth.

 

Jongin nods bleakly and tries to look down to Kyungsoo’s face, but only manages to ogle on the man’s collarbone, on the bob of his milky neck.

 

This isn’t the first time Sehun has outed him liked this. Yifan had found out when Sehun blurted out during dinner the reason why he knew Jongin really hadn’t intentionally gotten drunk to kiss Yura in his senior year. Perhaps Jongin’s too tired of rehashing the irritation to muster any of it now, so he settles with staying quiet.

 

“Ahh,” Kyungsoo intones. He leans his head back on Jongin’s shoulder, and starts humming the folk song they were singing earlier.   

 

Jongin blinks the water out of his eyes, not altogether sure what just happened. His face grows redder as Kyungsoo’s hair tickles his skin.

 

Kyungsoo mumbles something with his eyes closed, and Jongin cranes his neck to hear. “What, hyung?”

 

“I’m not seeing anyone,” Kyungsoo whispers to Jongin’s ear, voice husky and low, and then sighs, his hot breath mingling with Jongin’s sharp intake of air. Jongin’s chest, which has gone through a cycle of clenching and unclenching as Kyungsoo scoots closer and closer to him, now goes uncomfortably tight. And just like that, after days of being trapped at the corners of his mind by insomnia, Kyungsoo falls asleep soundly on Jongin’s shoulder.

 

…

 

Jongin climbs to the roof of the inn, like he’s done so many times before when he was a teenager. The building is not that tall for him to see the rest of the island, but it’s high enough to see the perfect cone shape of Mt. Iwa and the dark outline of the Grey Harbor. Lights glitter over the shoreline, the four towns, and the lagoon. The forest of Dai remains shadowy and menacing, with only Seomjung lake as the hole in the darkness.

 

“I figured you’d be up here,” Minseok crows. At that, Jongin starts to hear the soft creaks of the ladder.

 

He helps him climb. Jongin notices that he’s carrying two bottles of soju with his free hand, and he laughs.

 

“Haven’t we had enough to drink already?” Jongin says, grinning. “It’s dark, but I can see that your face is already red again.”

 

“You always talk informally when you nag.” Minseok laughs. “And it’s the harsh kind. I hope Kyungsoo’s not the type to mind.”

 

“Now that you mention it, Kyungsoo hyung lets me speak informally with him.” Jongin rubs the sore spot on his neck with his palm. “I don’t think it’s a city thing, though. Maybe it’s a Kyungsoo thing.”

 

“Maybe,” Minseok says, before slurping down. He hands Jongin the other open bottle and together they drink silently.

 

From the inn, they can hear the vessels blast their horns in Grey Harbor.

 

“They’re leaving again,” Jongin says quietly, and Minseok nods in understanding.

 

“Well, it’s their job.” Minseok sighs. “Though it would be better if they didn’t leave on such a starless night. The journey will be lonely.”

 

Jongin licks the ends of his lips, trapping the droplets of soju with his tongue. It’s gotten warmer, now that he’s had a drink. He tries to imagine the shipping boats sailing on inky blank hemp, with nothing but the constellations to guide their way home. He hopes the winds will be strong enough to blow the clouds away from covering the night sky.

 

“I tried studying constellations but I never got it. It’s all so…random,” Jongin speaks up again, glowering at the power lines. There was one night in July when he tried exploring the island by looking for the constellations _Ophiuchus_ and _Hercules_ to guide him westward, but he only saw a bunch of white, glowing dots with no lines connecting them.

 

Minseok laughs hoarsely. The alcohol is getting to him too. “I remember. You used to take me to the hills every night with those constellation maps you took from hyungnim’s encyclopedias. You were ten back then.”

 

“Those ancient farts back in Babylon just drew lines and shit all over the star maps and made them into things that didn’t even look like what they’re called,” Jongin muses out loud. “I think they didn’t even get what they were doing.”

 

“That’s besides the point though,” Minseok says after a moment. “The lines are there. We might not see them, but they’re there.”

 

“Yeah,” Jongin drawls. “I guess so.”

 

…

 

It’s Sunday. There are a couple of tourists littering the courtyard. Jongin spots a Japanese family taking a picture in front of the sycamore tree that hasn’t shed its leaves yet for the winter.

 

Kyungsoo is sitting on a bench, his feet not quite reaching the thinning grass. He seesaws his legs like a kid as he talks on the phone with the most somber expression Jongin has ever seen him have. The tight lines under his eyes have loosened up a little, which is good at least.

 

“You don’t understand, and you should,” Jongin hears Kyungsoo say with a gravelly voice. He must’ve just woken up.

 

A pause, and Kyungsoo whispers, “I already knew about that.”

 

Then, a flash of annoyance crosses Kyungsoo’s tired face. “No. I’m staying,” he says. “I am never leaving Gumseo-do. I love it here. And you’re just someone who’s trying to convince herself that she doesn’t feel the same way.”

 

He ends the call with a muted beep, murdering his lower lip with his teeth. Jongin is about to tiptoe his way out of the courtyard when Kyungsoo hears the pebbles crackle underneath his shoe. Kyungsoo looks up from the bench and sees him at mid-step. Jongin notices the way Kyungsoo frowns instantly, curling up into a ball.

 

“That was my mother,” Kyungsoo mumbles to the ground, sounding defeated.

 

Jongin sits next to him and sighs. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

 

Kyungsoo shakes his head, but says nothing more. His ears and neck are red, and Jongin moves to reach out and gently rub his fingers against his warm skin. Kyungsoo turns, giving him an intense stare, and Jongin fights the instinct to look away.

 

“You really must love the island,” Jongin says finally, and is rewarded by a soft smile on Kyungsoo’s lips. Kyungsoo looks better, now that he’s gotten some sleep. His skin is no longer papery and now has some color on it.

 

“I do,” Kyungsoo confirms. “I really love it here, thanks to you.”

 

Jongin raises a disbelieving eyebrow, hoping Kyungsoo didn’t hear his heartbeat implode in his chest. He puckers his lips and pulls away. “Me?”

 

Kyungsoo nods, grinning now. “The first day, I thought I wouldn’t survive here. Everything looked scary. Too green. Too alive. But…” He sighs. “I saw all the beautiful things, thanks to you. Or at least you made me remember them again.”

 

“I did?” Jongin stammers, trying to get a hold of his wits as Kyungsoo pulls himself closer and makes a soft _“Pfftt”_ with his lips.

 

“Stop acting cute, Jongin.” Kyungsoo snickers, and the fog of his breath shows. He seems to have already forgotten his conversation with his mother, and is now nagging him to have his dark brown hair trimmed properly. Jongin's heart does a relay run on his chest again as Kyungsoo threads his fingers on his locks and tugs at them gently. He wonders if he will ever get used to being pushed to the extremes whenever Kyungsoo smiles at him, or whenever Kyungsoo does something intimate.

 

Jongin knows by now, what this all means. It doesn't make the pang on his chest any lighter, or that squeeze on his lungs any gentler, but at least he understands.

 

Kyungsoo's shown him all the beautiful things too.

 

Jongin sighs and smiles. “You already know this, Kyungsoo, but I’m glad you’re staying,” he says. He rests a hand on Kyungsoo’s thigh.

 

Kyungsoo studies his expression. He must see something he likes, and in turn places his own hand on top of Jongin’s.

 

…

 

After another soak in one of Hamija’s soda pools, Jongin takes Kyungsoo up to the roof, which takes a lot of coaxing, pouting and arm-tugging. The older man takes the extra precaution against the cold by carrying three layers of thick jackets with him, while Jongin sticks three bottles of cold beer under his arm.

 

Jongin’s hair has been towel-dried, but not thoroughly enough for the back of his head is still dripping with water. Kyungsoo reaches out and squeezes the liquid with his palm, and the simple action creates a lump on Jongin’s throat as the skin on his nape tingles at the touch.

 

He opens the beer with a pop and nudges Kyungsoo with the bottle. “I can’t drink this all by myself,” Jongin says. “And you sleep better when you’re drunk. Admit it.”

 

Kyungsoo’s frown etches deep on his mouth. “I get really… touchy when I’m drunk.” He then raises an eyebrow at Jongin. “You should probably know that.”

 

Jongin thinks back on the way Kyungsoo had pressed himself against his shoulder while they were bathing in the spring, his hot, wet skin turning his stomach into a mosh pit. The usual Kyungsoo would’ve shied away from any contact even when they were fully dressed.

 

Kyungsoo’s hands are buried deep inside his jacket pockets, his nose red and flaking and cute. Jongin runs a hand through his hair, and then places an arm around Kyungsoo’s narrow shoulders, ignoring the way the latter’s eyes is watching him with intensity.

 

“Still not as touchy as me though.” Jongin carelessly grins and brushes aside Kyungsoo’s hair. He feels him shiver underneath his palm, but it’s probably because his hand is cold from the beer. “And I’m not even drunk yet.”

 

“You’re disgusting,” Kyungsoo says and slowly, slowly smiles. Jongin prods him the bottle again, and Kyungsoo surrenders with an eye roll.

 

They toast their bottles with a loud _clink_. Jongin growls at Kyungsoo when he notices him faking a sip, and urges him to empty the bottle just like he did. He hesitates until Jongin tickles him into doing so, and he slurps it down like a one-shot.

 

Kyungsoo’s whole face wrinkles like paper and exhales roughly when he’s done. “The beer in this island is too strong,” he whines.

 

“Buryeong-myeon makes the malt, hyung, and the people of Gumseo-do always like their drinks strong,” Jongin says. “It’ll knock you up in no time.”

 

“I bet you and Sehun drunk way before you even reached legal age.”

 

“Your father wanted drinking buddies,” he says nonchalantly, and Kyungsoo laughs.

 

Jongin fingers the cotton of Kyungsoo’s sweater peeking out of the layer of jackets. “You dress really simply,” he says. “But I can tell they’re all expensive. Your previous job must’ve paid really well.”

 

“I guess so,” Kyungsoo answers vaguely. He sighs heavily, as if he remembers something bad, and his breath is visible along with Jongin’s soft puffs of air.

 

“You have expensive tastes, but you hate flashy things. And this fifty thousand won sweater is when those two converge,” Jongin explains for him, and one end of Kyungsoo’s lips quirk up.

 

“Rather than hating flashy things, I just prefer being comfortable,” Kyungsoo says. His expression is blank again, but there’s a smile in his voice. It makes Jongin’s toes curl up in his slippers, for some unknown reason.

 

“Does Daljong-myeon make you comfortable?” Jongin prods with care, hoping he gets a definite answer from Kyungsoo this time, although he knows he shouldn’t expect too much. Kyungsoo’s face is warm and relaxed, and he wants to keep it that way.

 

Kyungsoo bites his lip, thinking. “Yes. It’s better here I guess, than the city. The noise. The crowd. The fast pace of living…. It’s probably okay for my mom, but I’ve always felt that I don’t belong there.”

 

“Yeah, you mentioned that before,” Jongin mumbles, now plucking at the hem of his own shirt. “I’ve always liked the city, though. I felt like I could change things when I was there. And the chicken delivery was 24/7.” He then tries for a cheerful smile. “I guess we’re two really different people, hyung. We want very different things.”

 

Kyungsoo shakes his head, disagreeing. “I think we want the same things, but in different places. We also both consider Daljong-myeon as special, so there’s that.” He gives a tight chuckle of his own.

 

“Daljong-myeon is great, but it’s not perfect,” Jongin says, and this time Kyungsoo agrees.

 

“It’s my personal Eden,” Kyungsoo whispers low, his voice deep and throaty. “But it carries all of my fears too.”

 

Jongin resists the urge to ask. Whatever they are, Kyungsoo might not like talking about it right now on a rooftop at the edge of the island with an empty beer bottle in hand. Kyungsoo has answered what he’s been most curious of after hearing him talk with his mother, anyway.

 

He opts to make the conversation light again. “See, hyung? Doesn’t this make you happy, having a man-to-man talk over drinks?”

 

“No. I feel depressed,” Kyungsoo says wryly, making Jongin laugh. “I don’t talk about these things when I’m sober.”

 

“The magic of Buryeong beer,” Jongin declares. “It makes you feel all warm and tingly inside that you just want to spill your guts, both figuratively and literally.”

 

Kyungsoo shakes his head again meaningfully. “That’s not the beer. That’s just you,” he says rather bluntly, and Jongin watches as his cheeks turn into a dark kind of maroon under the night lights. _It’s really cute_ , Jongin thinks. Kyungsoo really is cute.

 

“Hyuuuunngggg,” Jongin coos. He pulls him closer with the arm he has wrapped around Kyungsoo’s shoulders until they’re facing each other, and is rewarded with a quiet yelp of surprise from the man. He laughs, and his breath moves the hair on Kyungsoo’s forehead.

 

“I feel woozy, Jongin,” Kyungsoo tells him curtly, like a warning. He pins him down with a stare, and Jongin realizes that they’re really close now since Kyungsoo’s looking at him cross-eyed. “I think I’m drunk for real. Don’t get too close to me.”

 

“You’ve only drank one bottle while I had two.” Jongin snorts and teases him by shifting his hold to the small of Kyungsoo’s back, pulling him closer until Kyungsoo’s lips brush his neck. His hair smells like mint and rich loam from the springs. “You’re very warm, and I’m cold,” Jongin joshes, grinning. “Does it bother you that you’re snuggling with a drunk, gay person?”

 

“Yes,” Kyungsoo says, and his mouth brushes the skin on his neck, giving Jongin goosebumps. Lead weight suddenly drops on his stomach, heavy and difficult to ignore, and he’s not sure if Kyungsoo’s doing this on purpose.

 

Jongin lets out rough chuckle. “Which part bothers you? The drunk part or the gay part?”

 

“Both,” he replies, and he does it again, the slight pressing of his lips on Jongin’s neck, and this time Jongin knows that Kyungsoo’s being deliberate.

 

He stills; Jongin takes a sharp intake of breath.

 

“Because I’m both those things,” Kyungsoo says quietly.

 

It takes a long time for Jongin to process that. 

 

“O-oh,” Jongin says lamely. Kyungsoo feels hot beside him – a tiny sun in a wintry night. “Oh.”

 

Kyungsoo sighs heavily again. He starts steering away, but Jongin’s faster – unconsciously, he grips on Kyungsoo’s waist and hauls him back to his side, keeping him there. It makes Kyungsoo gasp loudly as his face gets buried on Jongin’s neck again. “I told you, it’s cold,” Jongin whispers to him. It’s just plain silly now, how far he goes just to keep him in his arms. “Let’s stay like this.”

 

“I’m very drunk,” Kyungsoo reiterates. His nose sounds clogged and his speech is slurred as it is frustrated. There are words he doesn’t utter again, but Jongin hears them clearly.

 

“I am too,” Jongin mumbles. _And okay_ , he thinks, _sure. I guess I’m not just hearing things. But hyung, are you really like me? Because for some reason, my brain keeps on coming back to that._

 

He holds Kyungsoo’s hand and sighs. Maybe this is one of the fears Kyungsoo had been talking about a while ago. Perhaps this is the first time Kyungsoo has told anyone about it. He probably had no one to tell, back in Seoul. Jongin can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been, keeping a secret so big with no one to share the burden of it with.

 

In Jongin’s case, the whole town had known for a long time. No one can keep a huge secret in a village so small (especially with Oh Sehun around). Most of the time the whole transparency bothers Jongin, but it also offers some sort of relief. There’s nothing heavy to carry around when you have nothing to hide anymore.

 

And perhaps, perhaps it’s the whole island of Gumseo-do, with its strange way of unraveling a person at its own pace, like waves slowly smoothing the roughest of edges. 

 

He wonders if there are any other fears he and Kyungsoo share.

 

“Stop wriggling,” Jongin croaks a laugh when Kyungsoo struggles for release. “It’s futile to resist me. I’m irresistible.”

 

“Shut up,” Kyungsoo says, sounding strangled underneath him. “Jongin, let go. I’m not – I’m not normal.”

 

“Are you forgetting? I’m not normal either,” Jongin retorts. He lets his free hand ruffle Kyungsoo’s satin hair. “Don’t think you’re special, hyung. You’re not.”

 

Kyungsoo sighs and pinches his arm hard. He stops struggling then, and leaves his hand limp on Jongin’s stomach. Jongin lets Kyungsoo’s lips bury themselves on his collarbone, lets his skin memorize the shape of his mouth, imprinting it on his mind. It’s soft just as Jongin had anticipated. He wonders if it would feel different if he touches it with his fingers.

 

“What are we doing?” Kyungsoo says, his lips moving against his skin. The slow burn in his gut deepens, lowers, until Jongin feels a certain tightness in him. He’s drunk, Kyungsoo’s drunk, Minseok, Yifan and Sehun are probably drunk downstairs too. They can all pretend it’s because of the alcohol, tomorrow morning.

 

Jongin forces himself to fight the urge to cup Kyungsoo’s face and keep him buried on the crook of his neck. It’s better if Kyungsoo doesn’t see his eyes right now.

 

“You sleep better when I hold you like this,” Jongin tells Kyungsoo, and tells himself. “I remember that night. You like being cuddled.”

 

Kyungsoo freezes, then relaxes. Jongin can picture him rolling his eyes. “You’re mistaken,” he answers stiffly.

 

“Oh. So it’s just me again, then?”

 

“Don’t think you’re special, Jongin,” Kyungsoo says in a small voice, but Jongin notices it’s not exactly a rebuff. He smiles at him, although he knows Kyungsoo can’t see it, and kisses his hair. They’re still young enough to exhaust whatever good list of excuses they’re capable of thinking of in the morning, and Jongin can definitely blame it on the alcohol again.  

 

…

 

 

The weekend seems like a passing dream that Jongin will never have the pleasure of reliving. It’s almost cruel, he thinks, that only after one day Kyungsoo is back to his zombie mode, his hair frizzy and his eyes stressed out to the extreme.

 

“I don’t need sleep,” Kyungsoo replies shortly when Jongin invited him to his room again. Perhaps it’s the way Jongin asked him outright. The _“Hyung, would you like to sleep with me again tonight?”_ might have been too much. Or maybe that night on the roof scared him off for good.

 

“I need to make plans,” Kyungsoo continues, running a hand over the pen marks on his planner. He doesn’t meet Jongin’s eyes. “Youngmin and Chanhyuk will be back in a month. Everything will have to be in tip-top shape if we want to convince them we’re capable of keeping this place running for years.”

 

 _No_ , Jongin wants to say. _I think you’re just distracting yourself from the real problem_. And the real problem is something Jongin doesn’t know, because Kyungsoo won’t tell him. The fact angers and frustrates him to the core, but he’s not going to push. He can’t push.

 

So, Jongin waits.

 

…

 

 

The weather is warmer than yesterday.

 

Jongin stops by Kyungsoo’s room, but it’s empty. He’s not there at the daechong, not in the kitchen or in the yard. He’s not in the rearing shed either.

 

He busies himself with his work with the banana stem, and tries not to think of anything. He tries not to think of this weird feeling he has in Kyungsoo’s absence. He tries not to count down to the hours Kyungsoo is away.

 

Minseok joins him at noon. They don’t talk as they work. The shears and cutting knife are loud enough to fill in the gaps of their silence. They pull on the hem and wind the strong string around a makeshift spool, plopping it on the grass as the birds gather on the tiny grains of rice from the leftovers of Jongin’s lunch.

 

“You seem worried about something,” Minseok says abruptly after they finish. He wipes the sweat on his ear with his forearm. “Your eyebrows are all scrunched up together.”

 

“I’m not sure,” Jongin says. “Have you seen Kyungsoo hyung around town this morning?”

 

Minseok chuckles. “Ahh. I should’ve known this is about the young master.” He grins, and Jongin blushes. “Well, I’m afraid not. I took the jeep with me so he couldn’t have been driving around. He’s probably out for a walk.”

 

“Maybe,” Jongin mutters.

 

Minseok purses his lips in thought. He turns to Jongin and asks, “Have you two been fighting?”

 

Jongin flashes him a look. “No. What makes you think that?”

 

“It’s weird,” Minseok explains, sighing. He props his legs on a nearby stool, the birds resting on it fluttering away hastily. “There’s definitely a problem between the two of you, but rather than fighting about it like regular people, you both seem determined to ignore it,” he says. “It’s the quietest, coldest war I’ve ever seen.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jongin says tightly, glaring at his shoes. The soft smile on Minseok’s face tells him that Jongin had just proven him right.

 

“Kyungsoo’s more morose than he usually is,” Minseok nudges him. “It’s probably because he hasn’t talked to anything living for a while.”

 

Jongin shakes his head. His mind drifts back to yesterday, when Kyungsoo holed himself up in his room, refusing to talk to him. “Back in Hamija, Kyungsoo hyung told me his worst fears are here in the island.”

 

Minseok watches him warily through the corners of his eyes. “What about it?”

 

“Do you think…” Jongin pauses, trying to catch his breath. His lungs painfully gulp in the sweet, fresh air. “Do you think I’m one of them? His fears?”

 

Minseok tilts his head, studying him for a while. He then replies, “Rather than fearing you in general, I think he’s afraid of you for a different reason.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Fears are rather complicated,” Minseok says quietly. “But now that you’ve mentioned it, I think I understand Kyungsoo a little now.”

 

Minseok smiles at him. “Jongin-ah, it’s not you he’s afraid of. It’s the idea of you getting too close, and then…” He sighs. “Leaving him and hurting him, even if you never intended too. It’s a common fear, but it’s one of the most difficult ones to overcome, because it can’t be done on your own.”

 

“I’ll never do that to him,” Jongin replies immediately. _I even came back to Daljong-myeon for you guys,_ he mentally adds.

 

“I’m sure you won’t, in the future,” he says, voice laced with meaning. “But you know… it’s different for Kyungsoo. It’s easier to carry the bad thoughts on your own so you won’t have anyone to blame but yourself for your loneliness. You used to be like that too, Jongin, when you were a kid,” Minseok tells him. “But you were lucky to be living in Daljong-myeon your whole life – the people are nosy and chatty and they never leave you alone. As for Kyungsoo, it seems the city didn’t provide him the same kind of comfort.”

 

“I really don’t get what you mean, hyung.” Jongin exhales through his mouth, scratching his head. “Are you telling me to leave Kyungsoo alone, or to breathe down his neck until he runs me over with his dad’s jeep?”

 

“I’m just telling you all you need to know,” Minseok says rather mysteriously, which only confuses Jongin even more. It’s already three in the afternoon, and the only thought that registers is that Kyungsoo isn’t back yet.

 

“I told him I’ve always wanted to live in the city, in our last night in Hamija,” Jongin mumbles. He massages the ache in his right hand. “But you know me, hyung. I can’t do it. I don’t have the heart to leave Daljong-myeon.” He bites his lip and looks at Minseok. “You think Kyungsoo hyung knows that too, right?”

 

Minseok pins him down with a penetrating stare, like he’s trying to say ‘ _You seriously can’t believe that can you?’_

He rubs his prickly nape and says instead, “Well, what do you think? Kyungsoo’s been avoiding you, hasn’t he?”

 

…

 

Muddy shoes grate the spacious front door. Jongin steps back from his position, straightening, running to the daechong. Kyungsoo’s standing by the doorway, his eyes dead and fixed on the wooden floor as he takes off his wet socks. He’s wearing the same suit he wore at Minhyuk’s funeral, except he left his coat in his room and his dress shirt is in a winkled, disheveled state.

 

“You’re back,” Jongin mumbles, his voice flooding with relief. It’s already eight o’ clock in the evening. Nobody sane enough would go wondering around town alone at night with the harsh winter upon them.

 

Kyungsoo’s eyes slowly meet his. He looks mildly surprised at the blanket around Jongin’s shoulders, and at Jongin himself, who was waiting for him near the daechong despite the cold.

 

Jongin’s gaze skirts at Kyungsoo’s right palm. There’s a mighty gash on it, and the blood has almost dried.

 

“What happened to you?” Jongin presses, almost shouting, and Kyungsoo blanches. He doesn’t say anything even when Jongin drags him to Minhyuk’s old office, his feet bare as they meet the wooden flooring. Jongin pulls open a drawer and plonks Kyungsoo on a chair as he searches for the kit.

 

“Why do you always get injured when I’m not there?” Jongin mutters angrily, opening the kit harshly. He brings out the iodine solution and a bottle of antiseptic. “Why are you like this? Why do you always make me worry, hyung?”

 

He takes Kyungsoo’s hand in his and turns it, palm facing up. It’s not as deep as he initially thought, and there’s a clot already forming in the opening. Kyungsoo must have applied snow on his injury, blocking the possibility of infection and numbing the pain for a while. Jongin pours the antiseptic all over the skin and dabs it with a cotton ball. The worry creeps on his heart again, when Kyungsoo doesn’t react to burn. He only stares at Jongin’s hand holding his, silent and thoughtful.

 

“Talk to me,” Jongin implores quietly. It’s only been a week, but he’s already missed the sound of Kyungsoo’s voice. He thinks he’s really gone crazy now.

 

Kyungsoo chews on the inside of his cheek before saying, “I went to visit Dad today.” He watches with a steady gaze as Jongin wipes off the dried blood and wraps gauze around his hand.

 

“How was it?”

 

“It’s… okay,” Kyungsoo says with a bereaved sigh. “I had a lot of questions.”

 

Jongin tapes and finishes his work, letting Kyungsoo’s hand land softly on his thigh. And Jongin only notices know how close they are, with their knees and ankles bumping together. “How did you cut yourself?”

 

“I was walking on the paths near Dai and I slipped.”

 

Jongin lets out a frustrated groan. “Only a city boy like you would hurt himself on level ground,” he spits, and regrets it instantly. He exhales loudly. “I’m sorry,” Jongin mumbles and looks down, motioning towards his hand to play with Kyungsoo’s fingers. “I didn’t mean that. I’m just angry and tired. You should’ve asked me to come with you.”

 

“I couldn’t ask you to come,” Kyungsoo answers. “You were up all night studying. You were exhausted when I left.”

 

Jongin narrows his eyes. “How did you know that?”

 

“I passed by your room last night,” Kyungsoo confesses. His ghostly pale face gains a bit of color in his cheeks. “I saw you working so –”

 

“It doesn’t matter, hyung,” Jongin insists. “Even if a meteor suddenly falls from the sky and I lose my right leg, I’d still go with you. Don’t ever go without me.”

 

“Jongin, I…” Kyungsoo sighs and stops, running his uninjured hand through his hair.

 

Jongin traces a finger over Kyungsoo’s hand. His nails are short and bitten down, and his palm is about only a third of Jongin’s. The skin is really soft and really cold.

 

“There was a guy named Luhan from Manchul,” Jongin begins after a silence. Kyungsoo’s not looking at him, but he can tell he’s listening. “He was Minseok hyung’s best friend,” he says. “One night, he had a fight with his father and he fled to the forest. We haven’t – we haven’t seen him since.”

 

Kyungsoo’s eyebrows pull together, but he doesn’t say anything. Jongin can’t read the thoughts in his eyes, so he continues. “The old folks always say that the devil resides in the forest, and that he’s usually out by morning to wreck havoc around the world and comes back to the woods at night to rest. When I was a kid, Daljong-myeon had lost three delivery boys to Dai when they went out at night to cross the woods for Gapak-myeon. So now the cabbages and the prunes are only delivered in the morning, even if they arrive a few hours after the public market opens.”

 

Kyungsoo slowly pulls his hand away from Jongin’s thigh and wraps his arm around himself, protectively, like a shield, and this doesn’t go out of Jongin’s notice. Minseok once told him that even if he couldn’t see it, the lines are there, and Jongin will damn try to connect the dots, even if he has to die trying.

 

“They say the forest is haunted,” Jongin says quietly. “And this is really embarrassing to say, since I’m already twenty-four and all, but… I think I believe them.”

 

Kyungsoo turns to look at him and the scary, blank expression on his face is back again. “There aren’t any monsters in the forest. You said so before,” he chokes out. “This is real life. They can’t exist.”

 

That’s what Jongin’s been telling himself too for years, but – “There’s really something creepy with Dai. I only go out there in the mornings for Seomjung. Perhaps the silly superstitions have gotten to me, really, but there’s this… air,” Jongin explains, recollecting his fears, memories. “Like it’s trying to suck me in whenever I pass by at night. Like it’s telling me I’d find something inside if I go.”

 

Jongin watches Kyungsoo carefully through his lashes. “I was afraid you’d been getting the same feeling too,” he says.

 

Kyungsoo only shrugs. “I just have a lot of things in my mind,” he mumbles, and Jongin definitely knows now, is absolutely certain of it.

 

The forest of Dai must be one of Kyungsoo’s fears.

 

“I’m not scaring you or anything but I just – I worry when you’re alone. Like a lot. And I actually kinda sorta need you too, Kyungsoo,” Jongin says. “I always feel better when you’re around, and I get the feeling that it’s the same for you too.”

 

Kyungsoo’s jaw goes slightly slack as his cheeks turn red. He drops his gaze to the floor again.

 

“Am I right?” Jongin teases lightly, poking him at the stomach, and is rewarded with a small tilt on Kyungsoo’s lips.

 

“Shut up, shut up,” Kyungsoo mutters, scrunching his face, though he doesn’t sound as upset as he was before. Jongin laughs and cups Kyungsoo’s warming cheeks with his hands before using his fingers to pull at the corners of his plump mouth.

 

“Stop frowning,” Jongin orders, bringing the other’s lips to form a heart shape. “I like it better when you smile and show all your teeth.”

 

Kyungsoo makes a tiny whine and shakes his head vigorously. Much to Jongin’s relief, the grin is still in place when he pulls his fingers away.

 

He pokes him again. “I’m right, aren’t I? You like me that much, don’t you?”

 

“You’re so full of it,” Kyungsoo snorts and glares, looking absurdly handsome without even trying. “You probably like me more than I like you.”

 

Jongin refrains from shrinking back like he’s supposed to. He smiles softly at him. “Of course I do,” he says quietly, inwardly glad that his voice doesn’t betray the weight he feels at the colossal pressure on his chest. He knows Kyungsoo is only joking, but he’s right after all; Jongin does like him, perhaps a little too much. Who wouldn’t, anyway?

 

That wasn’t the answer Kyungsoo was expecting. He goes shell-shock, and the heart smile slowly fades. He turns wooden and gulps.

 

“I’ll go take a shower,” Kyungsoo says. He stands up and leaves, and Jongin catches sight of him biting his lip in a flustered manner as he saunters away quietly. It’s remarkable, how the whole room seems to be empty with everything as soon as Kyungsoo left the doorway, and it makes Jongin’s heart ache all over again.

 

He wonders when he had gotten so careless.

 

…

 

“Jongin,” Sehun says. He’s segregating the squiggling worms from the dead ones. “I really didn’t want to tell anyone but since it’s you, let’s keep this a secret alright?”

 

“Funny. I never knew you could keep a secret to yourself for more than five seconds.”

 

Sehun glares at him murderously before saying, “It’s about Kyungsoo.”

 

Jongin turns to look at him immediately. He doesn’t have time to feel embarrassed that his ears immediately perk up at the name and says, “Did something happen?”

 

“Well,” Sehun balks slightly at the intensity of Jongin’s gaze. “I saw him the other night leaving his room. He looked…weird.” His nose wrinkles as he tries to remember. “Like _weird_ weird. He had his coat on and an oil lamp with him.”

 

“And you followed him?”

 

“More or less. He went to the forest. I didn’t have a flashlight or a coat with me, and it was so late and cold I had to go back.”

 

Jongin opens his mouth and then closes it again. The temperature inside the shed has suddenly gone down a few degrees, and he fights back the shudder that runs through his spine.

 

Sehun looks at him doubtfully. “Do you think he’s…?” He makes tiny circular motions on the side of his head with a finger. Jongin feels a spike of anger pierce through him and he kicks Sehun hard at the shin.

 

“ _You’re_ the one who’s insane,” Jongin growls. “Stop implying that he is.”

 

“I was kidding!” Sehun rubs his leg sourly. “Jesus Christ, you must really like him, don’t you? Can’t even take one measly joke without getting all defensive and stuff. Dumbass. Maybe you’re the one who’s gotten crazy.”

 

Before Jongin can inflict any further injuries, Yoorae opens the door and shushes the two.  “Jongin, can you come with me for a minute?” Her expression says she’s not taking no for an answer.

 

Jongin sighs and stands, patting his jeans so that the dried mulberry leaves sticking to them fall off. “Looks like everyone wants to talk to you,” Sehun quips dryly, and Jongin fixes him with a glower. _Don’t tell anyone about Kyungsoo_.

 

“Shut up,” he mumbles before following Yoorae outside. They veer right, passing the sauna room and the kitchen until they arrive to Yoorae and the other cook’s quarters. It’s a neat room with adequate space, with newly laundered clothes strewn all over the bed, waiting to be folded. Yoorae urges him to pull out the chair from the table and sit.

 

Jongin tries not to look uncomfortable as she folds her arms together. “I heard you and Sehun talking,” she says after a while. She opens the drawer to her right and hands a paper to him.

 

Jongin stares at her for a moment before peering down.

 

It’s a photograph. It’s yellow at the edges and the image embedded on the crisp white paper is almost fading, but Jongin can make out the person on the photo. Or rather, the people. It’s a picture of Jongin and (he realizes this with cold shock seeping through his trembling fingers) Kyungsoo as kids. Behind them is Olgwae beach, which Jongin recognizes from the white sand, the blue-green waters, and the glittering shoreline. They’re squatting next to each other on the sand and playing with the seashells they took, their hair blowing against the wind.

 

Jongin remembers a stream of sailing vessels embarking on a new journey, a splash of the winter sea against his skin, a shadow of Kyungsoo’s laugh.

 

“I found that under Kyungsoo’s pillow when I was straightening out,” Yoorae says, her voice quivering. “He must have found it in his father’s office. There used to be pictures of the whole family around the manor, see, but Minhyuk had them all removed from the picture frames and mantelpieces when Kyungsoo and his mother left. Kyungsoo’s… probably known for a long time.”

 

He can feel Yoorae watching him as he smoothes the picture with his fingertips. Jongin remembers, as he stares at the photo, a young Kyungsoo yelling at him to stop being an idiot and come down from a tree. He was grinning.

 

But he remembers only snippets.

 

Jongin chokes back the pang of acid on his throat. “Something happened, right?” he questions and looks up when he finally finds the courage to look at Yoorae’s face. She’s as old as Jongin is young, and she knows why Kyungsoo went to the forest all alone.

 

“Your parents left you under the orphanage’s care when you were a baby, and when you got caught stealing from Mrs. Han, Minhyuk took you in. You don’t remember Binna since she died when you were eight, but she and I took care of you, fed you, bathed you.” She inhales, sits on the mattress, and slightly leans her head on the post. “Kyungsoo was a year older, but you became quick friends. You followed him around, and he adored you.”

 

It’s gotten much colder than it was back in the shed. Jongin clenches his jaw and curls his fingers together, trying to protect himself. He tries to say something, anything, but he can’t.

 

Yoorae’s gaze softens. She puts a callused hand over Jongin’s arm. “Oh, I wish this was simple to explain, Jongin-ah,” she sighs. There’s added weight on her shoulders when her expression darkens. “As a kid, you always wanted to explore the island. You were a smart kid even then. Kyungsoo and Minseok sometimes called you ‘Nature Boy’ behind your back.” Yoorae laughs, reedy and awkward.

 

“You said you wanted to make your own map of Gumseo-do. You were five then, and Kyungsoo was six,” Yoorae continues. “You took Kyungsoo with you to Dai to go exploring, but when the sun came down, you never came back.”

 

Jongin forces his mind to focus and listen even as it starts wandering to bad places. Bad thoughts. Thoughts hears in the middle of the night when he’s cooped up alone in his room, thoughts he hears whenever he passes by Dai at night, shivering as he goes. Thoughts. Voices.

 

Yoorae’s eyes shine like she’s about to cry. “We were so worried. Kyungsoo’s mom ordered a search party for you two. Renshu and Jungil-ssi found you near the path to Seomjung Lake. You were crying when they saw you under a birch tree, and they carried you back home,” she pauses as she tries to steady her voice. “Kyungsoo wasn’t with you. You two got separated somehow.”

 

He rests a hand on his head. He thinks he’s having a migraine. 

 

“They found Kyungsoo a day after,” Yoorae says. “He was in a ditch near the Gibo memorial, all covered in mud. He almost didn’t have a pulse.” Yoorae sniffles, and Jongin looks down on the floor. “Kyungsoo didn’t talk for weeks. He rarely ate. He shut himself in his room and refused to see anyone. It didn’t help that the townspeople were all speculating ridiculous things, saying that the child had been possessed by an angry Gibo spirit, or that he saw some things that drove him mad. His parents fought every night, and Kyungsoo’s mother finally had enough and took him to Seoul with her.”

 

Jongin’s eyes sting. It dawns on him suddenly, what she’s trying to say. “Kyungsoo,” His voice breaks. It even hurts to say his name. “I hurt Kyungsoo hyung. I was the one who drove him away from the island.” _And ended up forgetting about him later._

 

He can’t imagine how Kyungsoo felt when he saw the photograph of them together, when all the awful memories that his younger self had hid started drowning him like that thick mud from the ditch years ago.

 

Jongin wants to scream. How cruel he had been this entire time? Following Kyungsoo around, nagging him to sleep and rest, when it had been _him_ all along who made Kyungsoo lost and tired and miserable.

 

Yoorae can read the silent anguish in Jongin’s eyes. “You both couldn’t remember because you were so young,” she says. “It was for the better. The brain will do everything to protect the heart. A person’s mind will do whatever it takes to shield itself from the pain of a memory.”

 

_Even if it’s about the person you care about the most?_

 

“I probably moved on faster than him that’s why I couldn’t remember a thing. It’s my fault,” Jongin concludes shakily. “That he’s like this. I want to –”

 

Yoorae squeezes his thigh, stopping him. “You were only _five_ , Jongin. Your parents abandoned you, and you wanted so much from the world that had been unfair to you. You’re hurt and lost just as much as Kyungsoo is.” She envelops him in her arms, and Jongin can’t take it anymore.

 

He cries. He cries and cries as his heart empties every last bit of worry and fear and guilt until he feels dry and numb. He cries, because after years of living in the quiet town of Daljong-myeon, he finally understands he’s in pain too.

 

She holds him tighter and consoles him the same way she did when he was four and got a bee sting. Jongin also cried hard that time. He could never chalk up the pain and bury it deep in his heart.

 

Yoorae rubs soothing circles on Jongin’s back and tucks the loose strands of hair behind his ears. “You don’t remember the things that hurt you when you were five – that’s the beauty of childhood. But as you grow up, sometimes there are triggers, and you get sad and lonely but you don’t know why. You remember the pain, but there’s no image,” she whispers. “But that pain is your friend now. It’s a reminder that you’ve grown past it, and that you have something very special with someone.”

 

Yoorae then smiles at him gently and says, “Nobody blames you for forgetting. Not even Kyungsoo.”

 

They stay like that for a long moment until Jongin’s sobs calm down into occasional hiccups. “Don’t you ever think that it was your fault, because it truly wasn’t,” she says. “Okay, Jonginnie? You have to promise me.”

 

Jongin doesn’t know if he can really do it, prevent himself from wallowing in his own anger and self-pity, but he nods. “Kyungsoo…” he starts but tapers off again. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do at this point.

 

“Kyungsoo is trying to face his fear,” Yoorae tells him, squeezing his hand. Her warm fingers keep the cold out. “He’s lost in more ways than one, but you’re here now.” She squeezes him even tighter. “Make sure he comes home.”

 

…


	3. 2/2

…

**[2/2]**

 

…

 

 

The manor is oddly empty and still. Nothing can be heard except for the clatter of ceramic in the kitchen.

 

Jongin is setting the table, filing the chopsticks into a neat line over his plate. The cook is already snoring somewhere in her room, and Yoorae has gone out with the rest of the maids for a quick drink downtown. The broth is almost spilling out of the pot when Jongin takes it out of the stove.

 

It lands on the trivet with a loud clang, making Jongin cringe a bit.  He opens the lid and scoops the whelks to his bowl with a ladle.

 

He grabs hold of the shell by the end, pinching it with his two fingers, before shaking the whelk up and down, up and down. The rubbery meat then falls off to his plate, and Jongin does the same to the rest of the shellfish while he feasts on the radish, rice and kimchi.

 

He’s almost done slurping the broth from his bowl when Kyungsoo comes in, his hair slicked back and fragrant, his dress shirt sleeves pulled up to his elbows. His dark green tie is loose around his neck, the knot hanging just above his stomach.

 

Jongin grins at him. Kyungsoo tries smiling back, but it only comes out like a grimace.

 

“I remember you being so skittish this morning when I dropped you off to the mayor’s office,” Jongin points out. “What happened?”

 

“Everything went okay. Great, actually. We’ve got everything settled for the festival, and there’s a couple of won extra,” Kyungsoo says, a bit carefully. He takes a seat two chairs away from Jongin. “I’m just tired.”

 

“Go figure,” Jongin mumbles, chewing on his whelk meat. Kyungsoo gives him a curious stare at his biting remark, and shrugs a little when Jongin doesn’t elaborate.

 

Kyungsoo isn’t looking any better these days. Still handsome, but in the most ragged, wretched of ways Jongin never thought was possible until now.

 

 _At least now I know why you look like a serial killer with great hair every breakfast,_ Jongin muses sadly, angrily, and he tenses up as his thoughts go south.

 

They come in flashes: the owls screeching, the low hisses of the snakes, the pressing, lingering whispers to his ear. They usually come at night when Jongin can’t sleep, and he has to really, really tuck himself inside his blanket and hug his pillow tight, so that he won’t slip. Sometimes he hears a voice, just one voice.

 

Looking back, it must’ve been really hard for Kyungsoo whenever Jongin hovered over him, following him around and taking him to places. Kyungsoo’s last year in Daljong-myeon hadn’t been spectacular at all, and Jongin is a constant reminder. He frowns to himself as he swallows the broth. It tastes raw and bitter, more sludge-like.

 

_Wait – Jongin! Where are you going? Don’t go!_

 

Jongin coughs and spits out a piece of whelk meat that went along with the kimchi, choking him a little. Kyungsoo stands up from his seat, but Jongin waves him off.

 

“I’m fine,” Jongin says rather hoarsely, the words echoing in his skull as the blood thrums violently through his veins. The sound of the young Kyungsoo’s trembling voice rings loudly in his ears.

 

Kyungsoo doesn’t believe him even a tiniest bit. He makes a move to sit on the chair right next to Jongin’s, watching him closely. He hesitates, until he puts a hand over Jongin’s quivering ones, and Jongin’s brain starts short-circuiting again at the touch.

 

Jongin fights back an agitated sigh. The guilt is going to chew him up and spit him out, if his obvious feelings for Kyungsoo don’t get to him first.

 

“Why do you cook your shellfish like this?” Kyungsoo blurts out. He points to the simmering pot, almost empty.

 

His hand is searing over Jongin’s skin, so Jongin takes it all on his palm. He uses the fingers to hold the end of a shell, and Kyungsoo looks over to him, bemused.

 

“Wait, I haven’t washed my hands yet,” Kyungsoo says, and Jongin grins devilishly at him.

 

“You’re going to eat the meat, anyway, not the shell.” The word ‘obviously’ goes unsaid but Kyungsoo hears it, and the older man kicks him underneath the table, making Jongin chuckle.

 

Kyungsoo musters up enough energy to give him a spiteful stare. “You still haven’t answered my question,” he grumbles.

 

“The whelks here in Gumseo are pretty stubborn. They really go deep within their shells after they get caught, so rather than coaxing them out with salt or breaking the shells, we cook them while they’re still inside,” Jongin twists his wrists and guides Kyungsoo’s fingers around the tip, holding the shell wrong-side up. “It’s like boiling alive those silkworm cocoons. The shell gets a bit softer, so it’s easier to shake the hell out of them until they fall off.”

 

With Kyungsoo’s hand under his, Jongin shakes the whelk at top speed, up and down, up and down, just like he did a few minutes ago with the others. Kyungsoo’s whole face is red, and he laughs out loud when the meat plops ungracefully on the table instead, missing the plate completely.

 

Kyungsoo wrinkles his nose. “It’s revolting,” he comments. “It looks like a gigantic booger.”

 

“It doesn’t taste like one, though. Eagle Scout’s promise,” Jongin assures him, taking a piece of whelk meat from his own plate with his fingers and places it over Kyungsoo’s lips.

 

Kyungsoo tentatively opens his mouth and chews on the meat slowly. Jongin watches as he licks the sides of his lips, and abruptly looks away when he surprises himself with thoughts about Kyungsoo, and about how absolutely strange it would be if Jongin would just lean in and close the distance between them.

 

“It’s great, right?” Jongin says with a clipped laugh, still not quite ready to look at Kyungsoo in the eye just yet.

 

He hears a ghostly chuckle, and Jongin looks up just in time to see Kyungsoo smiling at him. “I still prefer squid, but it’s nice,” he answers. “It definitely has this Gumseo-do taste to it.”

 

Jongin snickers. “And how does Gumseo-do taste like?”

 

“Bizarre,” Kyungsoo says after a while, unclasping his fingers from around Jongin’s hand. His gaze travels from the whelk meat lying on the table, to Jongin’s messy plate, and lastly to Jongin’s face.

 

Kyungsoo smiles a little. “Everything’s not really normal, down here.”

 

 

…

 

 

The first full moon of December kicks the sun away from the horizon, and the clouds are nowhere to be seen. The people of Daljong-myeon are out of their houses and celebrating across the streets. A group of teenage girls parade their colorful, flowing silk skirts around town, along with their escorts wearing the most expensive robes they have. Every home is open with their tables filled with food, and people flock from one dining room to another to feast on bibimbap, yaksik, and ogokbap.

 

When the drums start to sound at the plaza, Jongin stands in front of Kyungsoo’s door. He takes a deep breath before he knocks. “Hyung! It’s me!”

 

Kyungsoo comes out with a blanket draped all over his shoulder like a cape. Jongin lets out a laugh and encircles his fingers around Kyungsoo’s thin wrist. “Stop acting like a hermit, hyung! It’s a festival, not a funeral.”

 

“But it’s cold,” Kyungsoo whines. He tries to squirm back into his room but Jongin holds him like a vice.

 

“Bring your blanket with you if you want,” Jongin smirks. “I’m taking you out and that’s final.”

 

Kyungsoo seems to find Jongin’s expression a bit threatening, so he hurries to dress himself in the same grey-black ensemble Jongin has seen him wear on his first day at Daljong-myeon.  

 

 _He’s lost a lot of weight_ , Jongin observes. What used to be flesh filling in the cotton sweatshirt is now air, and the bags under Kyungsoo’s eyes aren’t as bad as they were in November, but the darkness clings heavily to his skin.

 

Kyungsoo had been sneaking in and out of the manor every night, a lamp in hand and his nose buried deep in his coat. Jongin kept close watch without making his presence known, tailing him as he entered the mouth of Dai. But Kyungsoo never got past the vines, always turning back and muttering frustrated words to himself.

 

Jongin tries to shake those thoughts away now and pulls himself together. He grins. "You look like an angry demon elf, hyung," Jongin teases, poking Kyungsoo's nose with his finger. "All you need is a pointy hat."

 

Kyungsoo swats his hand away. He gives him a bland stare, but he doesn't seem irritated. "Then give me one. It's freezing outside."

 

"Aye, aye."

 

After a quick trip to Jongin's room and retrieving an old beanie from his closet, they both head off to the village square. Minseok would be there along with Sehun and his sisters.

 

"There's going to be a lot of weird food there," Jongin says as they follow the path. All the lampposts have been fixed and decorated with paper lanterns, and they make the snow-crusted ground give off a shimmering glow. "There are trash cans all over the square in case a tourist throws up. Foreigners usually. They can't stand the smell of fermented stuff, especially hongeo. We've also put some stalls just as you've suggested. Yifan hyung and Qian took care of the textiles they'll be exhibiting."

 

Jongin gives him a sidelong glance. Kyungsoo looks excited. "I brought my camera along.”

 

“To take pictures of European dudes vomiting?”

 

Kyungsoo wrinkles his nose at Jongin’s failed attempt for humor, but is amused nonetheless. "I'll be taking some photos of the festival to send them over to a textile buyer in Kwangju.”

 

Jongin beams at him. He wraps an easy arm around the elder’s shoulder. "We’re making progress," he sing-songs. The sales have been steadily increasing since the past month, and Gumseo-do has experienced an unexpected boom in tourism that got all the villagers excited for the Silk Festival.

 

A frown appears on Kyungsoo's face. "It's not enough to keep the monsters at bay," he mumbles mostly to himself, and Jongin wonders what he means.

 

There are a lot more people in the plaza than Jongin initially thought. Tourists swarm the open neighborhoods offering free food and drinks as the locals dance along with the shingles of tambourines. It’s a good thing Kyungsoo did most of the planning and urged the townsfolk to add makeshift barriers so there wouldn’t be much of a problem with crowd control. They took the necessary precautions against the confusing paths that would lead only to the forest or the cliff side near the harbor. Jongin remembers Kyungsoo hunched over a stack of papers like a mechanic going over a set of robot schematics.

 

_“Why do you like it? Working hard until you can’t work anymore? Being in charge? Setting up everything?” Jongin had asked Kyungsoo once, while they were on a walk around town, passing by the rice paddies. The sun had risen and the sky was a mixture of orange and yellow palettes. “Like, to the very last detail? Doesn’t it get too restricting?”_

_Kyungsoo openly stared at him. “That’s an awful lot of questions.”_

_“Pick one at least.”_

_“I – uh…” Kyungsoo chewed on his lip thoughtfully, choosing his next words with care. “I hate being told what to do, so I make myself in charge. I guess that’s the main reason.”_

_Jongin laughed out loud at this. It scared some of the herons away from the fields. “I never thought you’d be some sort of rebel. You certainly don’t dress like one.” Soft, black hair combed to perfection, neat cotton sweaters, skin as white and clear as an unpainted canvass, Jongin thought that Kyungsoo looked more like a choir boy. A very, very cute choir boy, that is._

_Kyungsoo boxed his ear with a mischievous grin and let go when Jongin started wailing. “You’ve asked about my job before. What I did in the city,” Kyungsoo continued. “I don’t consider it a job, really, since I got it because of my mom. She used to work with the sister company and put in a good word for me.” He sighed deeply. “It was a good job. It paid the bills and I got a lot of extra. But I wasn’t happy, because it felt like I hadn’t worked hard for it. It felt like I had stolen someone else’s life.”_

That makes two of us _, Jongin thinks. A pang of guilt hit Jongin squarely on the chest. He gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing painfully._

_“And I like being my own boss. Relying on fate –” he stopped and cleared his throat. “I mean, I don’t want to just dillydally and hope that something good will happen.”_

And by that you mean you don’t believe in chance _, Jongin summed up in his head._

_He pursed his lips and looked yonder. Kyungsoo had looked very creepy when Jongin greeted him this morning, like his eyes wanted to crawl out of its sockets and roll inside a crevice where they could finally get some rest. “That’s… a really lonely way to live, hyung.”_

_“Yeah, you’re absolutely right,” Kyungsoo agreed after a moment. The tightness of his lips was almost gone, now that Jongin was with him and keeping his mind preoccupied. “I guess that’s why I get down so easily when things don’t go the way they’re supposed to.” He looked at Jongin through his hair and smiled a little. “Thanks for making me realize that.”_

_Jongin grinned at him, smug. “You’re welcome. But that’s not going to make you change, will it?”_

_“Nope,” Kyungsoo said, popping the ‘p’ with a loud smack of his lips._

_Jongin smiled to himself then. Sure, he’d pick a well-rested, less anxious Kyungsoo any day, but Jongin would rather wake up to the wrong side of the world than have his smart, blunt, sweater-loving, paranoid zombie-hyung change._

…

 

Kyungsoo’s face lights up as he sees a group of ash-blond haired tourists crowding in front of a display of silk fabrics with various, intricate designs. He takes a picture of them with his camera zealously. Kyungsoo loves that his hard work is paying off, Jongin can tell.

 

He takes pictures of the weavers sharing their craft, of the villagers stuffing themselves with red beans and rice cakes. Kyungsoo meanders through the streets as snow and dried leaves stick to his boots, and Jongin holds on to his coat so they won’t get separated.

 

“Hey, I thought I’d be leading the way, Private,” Jongin says, laughing when Kyungsoo accidentally bumps his shoulder with a halmeoniwearing a hanbok in his hurry to capture the whole festival on film. "This is your sergeant speaking."

 

Kyungsoo growls at how slow Jongin is walking and takes his hand. "I don't listen to lowly commanding officers like you," he jeers, pulling Jongin along.

 

"Even handsome, charming ones like me?"

 

" _Especially_ handsome and charming ones," Kyungsoo snorts. "They're usually stuck-up pricks I can't stand."

 

Jongin pouts. "I'm not a prick! Look, I'm even letting you drag me around like a rag doll even if it hurts my manly pride," he protests.

 

"Maybe you're not," Kyungsoo says. "But manly pride my ass."

 

Jongin chuckles. It really had been a good idea to bring Kyungsoo out to enjoy the festival. He'd grown to miss this lighthearted version of him, the one who never sugarcoats an insult and loves playing photographer. It only pops up around twice a day when Kyungsoo’s having a good week, or never when he doesn’t get any sleep at all. "Fine. We'll have it your way of enjoying the Silk Festival. But you have to promise me that you'll let me choose our last destination before the night is over."

 

"Okay," Kyungsoo agrees easily.

 

A few fishermen are taking advantage of the holiday by selling their fresh catch on a stall. Kyungsoo makes an unintelligible noise in his throat when he sees a man in a straw hat wrapping a customer’s purchase with manila paper and newspaper, and Jongin laughs at the scandalized expression on his face.

 

He leans in and whispers in Kyungsoo’s ear, “We always wrap fish with paper. Plastic is expensive and well, a little bit out of reach – we save that for meat and stuff.”

 

“Must not ignore the environmental and economic value,” Kyungsoo says with an exaggerated sigh. “Almost forgot that over sanitary issues.”

 

Jongin cocks an eyebrow at him. “As shown by the high-rise Seoul condominiums, hyung?”

 

“Shut up,” Kyungsoo says, contorting his face in a manner that makes Jongin want to pinch his cheeks.

 

It’s getting colder. The dance troupe braves the onslaught of the sea breeze that billows their robes as they perform one of the oldest love songs on the island. Jongin doesn’t know what it’s called, nor does he understand the lyrics (they’re in Chinese) but the way they leap over the bamboo shafts fashioned into swords and spread out their paper fans… Jongin knows it’s a song of tragedy, of a warrior failing to come home as he gets swallowed by the sea. It’s a song of a wife who grows old and dies, shriveling into dust as she waits for her beloved.

 

“You don’t like this song,” Kyungsoo observes. His voice sounds funny, like he’s sniffling. It must be from the cold.

 

Jongin squints at Kyungsoo. “You understand Chinese?”

 

“You remember my friend Tao? He taught me how to speak and understand the language.”

 

“So what does it mean?” he asks. “The song?”

 

Kyungsoo pauses, licking his chapped lips. “It’s like Penelope,” he says.

 

“… What?”

 

“There’s a Greek epic that almost has the same story as the song,” Kyungsoo says. His eyes dart up to the sky, the way he always does when he’s trying to explain something. “There’s this warrior, Odysseus, who set sail for the Trojan War. The war lasted ten years. When they won, he sailed back to Ithaca, his homeland. And that lasted for ten years too.”

 

“He sure took his sweet his time,” Jongin says. The performance is already at its end. The girls are sweeping the ground with the long sleeves of their robes, pulling back their fans and clutching it until its hidden. A bell chimes along with the sounds of the zither.

 

“He did take a lot of detours,” Kyungsoo is smiling now. “None he desired. He almost got eaten by a monster, fought a witch, killed a six-headed beast, and got stuck in an island with a crazy goddess who wanted to marry him.”

 

“But he came home?”

 

“Yeah. He had a wife named Penelope, who waited all those years for him and denied all her other suitors,” Kyungsoo says. “But the song we’re listening to now is different. Admiral Ching never came back from the conquest of Xiaodong, and his wife Ta Min died waiting on the first full moon of December.”

 

Jongin nods. “So it has a different ending. It’s sadder.”

 

“Mhmm,” Kyungsoo replies solemnly. He shivers unconsciously, and the action loosens his coat, revealing a swath of pale skin from Kyungsoo’s neck underneath.

 

The crowd bursts into applause, the tourists yodeling for an encore, and Jongin wonders out loud why people like singing sad songs during a festival.

 

“You’ve been here longer than I have,” Kyungsoo says. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s a reminder that our lives could be a lot worse than they already are.”

 

“… You always come up with depressingly rational and morbid explanations, hyung.”

 

Kyungsoo shrugs, chuckling. “Well, maybe they think it’s romantic.”

 

“Do _you_ think it’s romantic?”

 

“No,” Kyungsoo says almost immediately. His nose is red. “I would’ve preferred if they just… you know. Lived together for a long time. Like regular people.” He looks down and picks at the dirt in his nails, perhaps thinking that he’s said too much.

 

Jongin gives him a long stare, and then grins. “Yeah. I think so too.”

 

 

…

 

They settle for an open house giving out free drinks and roasted squid. Sehun waves at them with the end of his foot high in the air, his hands busy from pouring soju for the two of them.

 

“You’re going to turn into an ice block any second now, hyung,” Sehun says with a straight face, handing him a shot. He sounds teasing. “This is a better alternative for a hotpack.”

 

Kyungsoo eyes Jongin fervently, looking at the three other empty glasses on the counter. “One of us has to stay sober,” he says. He’s probably remembering the last time he and Jongin got drunk together.

 

"I'll be sober. You'll just be more sober than me," Jongin insists, and licks almost empty glass. He needs the magic of alcohol tonight anyway, where they're going next. Sehun pushes forward the soju, more adamant this time, and Kyungsoo takes one tentative sip before gulping it all down.

 

He makes a weird, gurgling noise. "I hate drinking," he mumbles.

 

Jongin laughs. There's that tell-tale flush on his cheeks and his neck, and he feels rather light. "Real men drink, hyung, and that's a fact."

 

"Real men don't kiss dogs while they're piss drunk," Kyungsoo retorts, and Sehun high-fives him from the counter, grinning. "I like having a functional brain, thank you very much."

 

But it's a bit warmer now, after they’ve had a drink. Jongin makes fun of how Kyungsoo's cheeks are already apple red when he only had one tiny glass, though Jongin knows he must look worse.

 

"Where are we going?" Kyungsoo asks after a long moment of trekking. They've already strayed from the intersection that leads back to the village and approached the clearing, where the snow has casted itself over the coral lilies like a blanket. Jongin doesn't answer for a while and leads the way in silence.

 

Kyungsoo starts to rub his hands together. "Jongin, where are we going?" he asks after ten minutes. There's a slight quivering in his voice that he tries to mask with a nervous chuckle.

 

When Jongin doesn't answer, Kyungsoo says, "You're scaring me, Jongin. Please talk to me."

 

"You've been scaring _me_ for the past months," Jongin says quietly, and Kyungsoo falls silent.

 

They stop at the icy path leading to the forest. The birds are chirping eerily, warning them to turn back. Kyungsoo freezes on his spot as Jongin urges him to follow.

 

"I can't go in there," Kyungsoo says in a small voice. He casts his gaze downwards. Jongin has never seen him look so defeated.

 

“That’s why I was telling you earlier to drink,” Jongin claims. A brief satisfaction courses through him as he realizes that he’s not slurring through his words. He thinks of it as a good omen. “That way we can be brave and crazy enough to do this.”

 

“Do what?”

 

He takes Kyungsoo by the hand. The slight gruffness of the action makes Kyungsoo jump, but he doesn’t let go and instead widens his eyes.

 

“I _know_ , hyung,” Jongin whispers, leveling his stare. “Yooraetold me everything. I remember now, what happened years ago.”

 

Kyungsoo’s ears have gone pink. He looks like he’s going to say something but he doesn’t, only managing a withering glare. He tries to retrieve his hand until Jongin tightens his grip.

 

“I’m here,” Jongin says firmly.

 

“N-no,” Kyungsoo stutters, avoiding his gaze. “We can’t. You – you left me before.”

 

Jongin’s gaze softens as a cold, metal rod plunges through his chest. _I’ll never leave you again,_ he thinks.

 

“We’re not getting separated from each other this time,” he squeezes his hand. “I promise.”

 

Before he can argue, Jongin hauls him along the path. Kyungsoo grows steadily quiet as they enter the muddy path. It’s certainly strange, how the erratic pulse Jongin feels on Kyungsoo’s palm seems to sync with the croaking of the frogs and twittering of the birds. He reminds himself that he doesn’t have any reason to be afraid. Kyungsoo’s with him right now. There are no monsters to slay, in real life.

 

Kyungsoo trips on a buttress, making him squeak. It’s the first noise he’s made since they entered Dai, and Jongin chuckles. “I’m glad to hear you’re still alive, hyung,” he jeers.

 

“I outta – ugh!” Kyungsoo fumes. He can’t see much of his expression in the dark, especially now that the tree tops are thickening. He falls silent again as they stray from the trail and go deeper.

 

Jongin pulls on his arm so that they’re walking side by side now, and not just him dragging the older man around. He entwines their fingers in a sure grip.

 

There are voices. Slightly muted, but loud enough that Jongin can hear them. It must be worse for Kyungsoo, who holds on tighter at the slightest quiver of a branch. To him, they’re probably screaming.

 

“What was it like?” Jongin asks out of the blue. His can feel the aftereffects of soju as his brain hammers against his skull; he figures that he can talk himself out of it and maybe distract Kyungsoo a little. “When you…?”

 

Kyungsoo sighs deeply. “Terrified,” he mumbles.

 

They can’t hear the drums anymore. The grass has been replaced by white patches of snow, but Jongin is already familiar with the forest and can make out the signs of the ruins. He has strayed from the path numerous times with Minseok and Sehun that he knows the way around Dai even in his sleep. Except for that one time when he was a kid, he never forged on on his own, though.

 

“I see you every night, trying to get inside,” he begins. Kyungsoo fixes a look on him, but Jongin stares straight ahead. “After so many months of wondering why you can’t fall asleep, I was relieved. I know, I’m a selfish person.” Jongin laughs and gives him a small half-smile. “I really thought I was the only one who was having problems.”

 

Kyungsoo nods a little. “A kindred spirit, huh.” He looks down on the snow and mud clinging to his jeans. “I never thought you would be…” He trails off, and sighs. “When I found out, I didn’t know what to feel, but it made sense. I’ve always thought I’d seen you somewhere before, or talked to you before. I didn’t know you were…” He sighs again, a sadder one this time.

 

“I’m sorry,” Jongin mumbles. “I shouldn’t have strayed from the path and chased that rabbit.”

 

“You thought it was glowing,” Kyungsoo chuckles softly. “It was pretty idiotic, Jongin, but I don’t forgive you. There’s nothing to forgive. It’s all just me.” He looks up at the breadth between the trees, and Jongin does the same. There are only a few stars shining on the Silk Festival tonight.

 

“I should’ve been over it by now,” Kyungsoo whispers, more to himself.

 

Jongin thinks of Kyungsoo staying up for hours, letting the sadness cling to him until he felt numb, until it manifested as the dark circles under his eyes and the hunch of his shoulders.

 

“I’m not like you, Kyungsoo,” Jongin says. “I can’t stuff my feelings inside and shut myself down. I don’t know how to do that. But for all I know – it’s hurting you more than it’s helping you.”

 

Kyungsoo’s mouth tightens a little, and his eyes shine with dozens of emotions that pass over quickly before Jongin can identify them. “So that’s why you brought me here?” he asks. “To ‘unstuff’ them?”

 

Jongin smiles at him. He smoothes away the furrow on Kyungsoo’s brow. “Let’s leave our sadness here, hyung. Let’s leave it where it came from and bury it.”

 

They stand a foot from the Gibo memorial. The lava must have incinerated the whole capital to its roots, then weathering and snow had led the rest of what was left to decay, since it’s more barren than Jongin expected. But there’re saplings starting to turn into trees of every kind and the vines are stretching on everything sturdy they can find. Dai is expanding her territory, only hampered temporarily by the weather.

 

Kyungsoo’s movements grow stiffer, and Jongin’s sure it’s not from the cold. His knuckles are enamel white.

 

The voices are louder here, Jongin observes.

 

“Don’t stay still, hyung,” Jongin reminds him. “Breathe, okay? I’m here.”

 

Kyungsoo glares at him, but his chest deflates nonetheless.

 

Jongin wants to ask what the voices are telling him. To him, they’re all whispering in his ear, pleading, mourning. They sound lost.

 

 _Make sure he comes home_ , Yoorae had said.

 

“The snow is a good thing, isn’t it?” Jongin says. His voice is starting to sound rough. He shivers when Kyungsoo’s frosty hand grips him tighter. “When spring comes, it’ll turn into water, gradually. And it’ll wash all the bad things away.”

 

Kyungsoo doesn’t argue like Jongin expects him to, since Kyungsoo absolutely hates snow. Instead, his lips lilt up.

 

“Have you ever considered being a writer someday?” he asks. Jongin breathes a sigh of relief at Kyungsoo’s small smile.

 

Jongin shrugs. “I’m not really good at words to be honest.”

 

“Sometimes I forget that you’re younger than me,” he mutters, thoughtful.

 

“Because I’m taller?”

 

Kyungsoo steps on his boot. “You think…differently.”

 

They stay at the memorial until Kyungsoo says it’s time for them to leave. It’s probably only Jongin’s imagination, but he seems lighter now. He can feel the pulse on Kyungsoo’s palm steady into a soothing beat.

 

They focus on the path that finally reappears after the sludge of snow thins. It has gotten warmer than Jongin anticipated as they stumble towards the heart of Dai.

 

Kyungsoo’s legs start to wobble when they see the ditch up ahead. Jongin’s eyes bulge out of their sockets as he sees the enormous crater. The snow is sloping down like a mini-avalanche, destroying the tiny weeds that border its path. Jongin wraps a hand around Kyungsoo’s waist and forges on.

 

He can feel the heat as Kyungsoo’s face goes warmer. They stop at the rim, standing together.

 

Kyungsoo places his hands over his ears, closing his eyes tightly.

 

“Are you okay?” Jongin asks. Kyungsoo’s face is scrunched up like he’s concentrating, but to him it seems more like Kyungsoo’s distressed.

 

“I’m…” Kyungsoo croaks. His voice sounds wet. He refuses to open his eyes even when Jongin puts his hands on his cheeks. “I’m - Jongin, I’m…”

 

Jongin’s heart is thundering against his chest. It’s too painful, like it wants to burst. His eyes zero in on Kyungsoo’s quivering mouth, and Jongin thinks it’s about time he comes clean.

 

Jongin lets his head fall and presses his lips against Kyungsoo’s. Kyungsoo’s breath comes in hot as he gasps, his eyes opening in surprise, and Jongin takes it, takes Kyungsoo in as he unhooks a hand from his cheek and laces it around his waist to pull him closer. Kyungsoo then shuts his eyes as a tear escapes, and Jongin slicks it away with his thumb.

 

Jongin realizes he’s not drunk after all, even with the two bottles of soju he drank all by himself, because he’s hyperaware of every sound Kyungsoo makes, can feel the slightest shift in Kyungsoo’s position, can feel Kyungsoo’s hand tug on the hem of his shirt. Jongin cranes his neck so he can keep his mouth on Kyungsoo’s, something he’s not willing to give up on, especially when he runs his tongue over the swell of Kyungsoo’s bottom lip and is rewarded by a tiny whimper.

 

Jongin chuckles under his breath when Kyungsoo lets out a harrumph as he backs him up against a tree trunk. He chuckles even more when Kyungsoo impatiently meshes their lips together once more, running a hand underneath his shirt and exploring the skin of Jongin’s back. His entire body explodes at the touch, and he kisses Kyungsoo a little more aggressively, claiming his neck and then sliding his tongue into Kyungsoo’s mouth.

 

Kyungsoo kisses roughly like he’s never done this before. He drags their mouths together in a way that makes Jongin moan inappropriately, spreading his hand evenly on Jongin’s chest. In instinct, Jongin twines his right leg in between Kyungsoo’s thighs, and the frustrating, liquid want that pools on the bottom of Jongin’s stomach makes him shudder.

 

They pause, trying to catch their breaths, and Kyungsoo is flushing like he’s never seen him do. There’s a strong sinewy heat that warms Jongin’s heart, defrosting the icy pricks of loneliness that claw at him at night when he can’t sleep. Jongin holds on to him like he’s never wanted anything else, and really, he doesn’t.

 

Kyungsoo’s pupils dilate, looking only at him, and Jongin thinks it feels absolutely, _ridiculously_ good to have his arms around Kyungsoo’s body. Jongin knows there’s a huge grin spreading on his face, and he can’t stop it. “What’s that you wanted to say?” he asks.

 

“I forgot,” Kyungsoo answers, and Jongin laughs so loud that he tears up a little. He feels embarrassingly happy that Kyungsoo’s okay, and, well, relieved, that Kyungsoo hadn’t pushed him to the ditch when Jongin ambushed him with his mouth.

 

Jongin bites his lip. “Was I that good?”

 

“Shut up,” Kyungsoo says again for the second time tonight, but he’s smiling. Jongin meets the end of his mouth with a fish kiss, but Kyungsoo grabs a fistful of his hair and smashes their lips together. Jongin laughs at Kyungsoo’s sultry moan, taking it as a yes.

 

…

 

 

“Sehun really wasn’t kidding,” Kyungsoo says after a long moment. They’re holding hands again as they walk through the path, but this time Jongin’s no longer leading the way. “You _do_ like kissing people when you’re drunk.”

 

“How many times do I have to assure you that I’m not drunk?” Jongin argues. “Well, maybe a little. But not enough to not know what I’m doing.” He gives him a sidelong glance, grinning. “It was a very conscious move, kissing you. I’ll kiss you tomorrow too if you want, when you’re sure that I’m sober.”

 

Kyungsoo’s face turns beet red. “… No. I don’t think that’s necessary.”

 

Jongin beams at him mischievously. “No, no. Maybe not necessary, but –” He stops to give Kyungsoo a long, lingering kiss. Jongin licks his lips and sighs. “It’d be a nice thing to wake up to when you’re having a morning hangover.”

 

Kyungsoo glares at him weakly, but there’s a small smile on his face. “You’re the biggest romantic dope I’ve ever met.”

 

That really shouldn’t have made Jongin’s heart swell up with joy, a bright and searing kind, but it does. There’s that sweet feeling of earning Kyungsoo’s smiles, and the smidgen of hope that Kyungsoo might like him by at least a millionth of the way Jongin does. “I know. I can’t understand how I coped before,” he grins wider as he holds Kyungsoo close.

 

Kyungsoo searches his face for a moment, before saying, “Since when?”

 

It takes a minute for Jongin to comprehend. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I probably liked you already since we were kids, but this also feels new.” He points at their entwined fingers, and then laughs. “Honestly, I don’t really care, hyung. I just know I like you.”

 

Kyungsoo blinks. “Okay.”

 

“You seem to really care about this stuff,” Jongin says, amused.

 

“I just thought it should feel weird,” Kyungsoo bites his lips and takes a fleeting glance at Jongin through the fringe of his hair, and continues when he sees that Jongin isn’t offended. “But it doesn’t.”

 

“Am I making you uncomfortable?”

 

“No,” he says quickly, and Jongin laughs again. “I actually feel okay now.”

 

“Just _okay_?” Jongin blurts, looking wounded. “I thought I was a good kisser.”

 

“You were eating my face,” Kyungsoo states blandly. “What you’re good at is keeping my mind off the, uhh…bad things.”

 

Jongin nods, understanding that Kyungsoo’s still not ready to talk about it fully. “Well, at least I’m good at something,” he says and chuckles.

 

“I don’t think they’re, you know, _gone_ ,” Kyungsoo responds. His lips point downwards to form a tiny frown. They’ve already passed the Gibo memorial and are on their way to trek back down the rock cluttered trail that heads towards Seomjung Lake. The night creatures sound less menacing now to Jongin’s ears.

 

“We can always come back here if you want,” Jongin provides. “Until we drive the voices away. We can bring shovels so we can – uhh, methodically bury that stupid ditch.”

 

“I think the voices are here to stay as long as this forest still stands. It’s not that bad, though. Your idea, I mean. I might get used to them,” Kyungsoo says sagely.

 

“Okay. Just tell me whenever you want to go, and I’ll accompany you.”

 

“Mhmm.”

 

Jongin kisses him on the cheek. “Kyungsoo?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Kyungsoo spins on his heels to flash him a bewildered look.

 

“Huh? For what?” Kyungsoo asks hesitantly.

 

“I really didn’t mean to forget you,” Jongin says, honestly, and he can see Kyungsoo’s face, illuminated by the soft full moon light cascading from the skies, and Jongin keeps a mental snapshot of it and buries it deep within his heart where it’s safe.

 

Kyungsoo rips his gaze from him, flushing. “Quit saying things like that,” he mumbles. Kyungsoo bumps his shoulder hard, and Jongin knows he’s forgiven.

 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to forget you too,” he adds, more quietly this time when he thinks Jongin wouldn’t hear, though he does.

 

…

 

The Sunday quickly turns to Monday, which turns to Tuesday and then to Wednesday. The days of the week slip by so fast that Jongin isn’t able to tell what day it actually is, and if he’s being honest he isn’t able to tell much what happened in that week unless it’s about Kyungsoo.

 

Yesterday, he and Kyungsoo spent the whole day cleaning the shed and feeding the silkworms. It took them a long time to transfer all the matured cocoons into new, wooden trays since a considerably huge number of the sericulture had died from the cold. Kyungsoo was devastated as he counted them one by one, putting them all in a glass jar and muttering about how careless he had been the past few months.

 

“You’ll see them again in heaven, hyung,” Jongin reassured him, playing with the smooth tufts of hair at the back of Kyungsoo’s head.

 

“You think I’ll end up in heaven?”

 

Jongin grinned at him wickedly. “Now that you mention it…” He laughed, filled with meaning, and Kyungsoo flicked his forehead.

 

Today, the sky has been painted orange even though it’s only midday. They’re in the forest, a few yards from the ditch, a few feet away from the Gibo memorial. Jongin’s legs are spread out evenly as he watches Kyungsoo setting out their lunch over the red blanket.

 

“How was the talk with Mr. Go?” Jongin pipes as he stretches out his hand to catch the apple Kyungsoo throws at him. He nips on the skin with his teeth and licks his lips after.

 

“It went okay,” Kyungsoo says, and seems surprised at the fact. He slides Jongin a bowl and a box of tissues, gesturing him to wipe the trickle of saliva at the end of his mouth. “He says he’ll give us a spot for next year. It’ll just be a small stall on the first floor of his building in Gwanghamun, but at least we’ll get to showcase our stuff for three months.”

 

“I bet you didn’t even have to threaten him,” Jongin says. “You just had to turn on the good ol’ Kyungsoo charm.”

 

“Flattery isn’t going to get you anywhere, Jongin,” Kyungsoo says flatly, and Jongin laughs. He crawls a bit closer and lands a sloppy kiss on Kyungsoo’s cheek.

 

“Mr. Go is really nice,” Kyungsoo says, ignoring him. He spoons a few servings of salad on Jongin’s bowl. “I should send him a gift for Christmas.”

 

It suddenly occurs to Jongin, that Christmas is only four days away. He really hasn’t been paying attention to the dates. The snow has gotten thicker, but Jongin thinks this week has been warmer than last year.

 

“Hyung,” Jongin says after a moment. “There’s something I always do during Christmas.” He’s always done it alone, but maybe he’ll do it a little bit different this year.

 

Kyungsoo’s eyes narrow into slits. “It’s not something illegal, is it?” he treads suspiciously.

 

Jongin pouts. “You know, your lack of trust in me is disheartening. I thought you liked me.”

 

“That doesn’t make you any less insane,” Kyungsoo helpfully points out as he eats his salad.

 

Jongin rolls his eyes. “We hear voices in our heads,” he fires back. “We’re _both_ insane.”

 

Kyungsoo opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it again. He starts blushing despite himself. “As long as it’s not dangerous.” He sighs, plunging his spoon back on his bowl.

 

Jongin thinks about it for a moment. “It’s dangerous, but it’s not illegal,” he says. “Does that make you feel any better?”

 

“No,” Kyungsoo says immediately, and Jongin chuckles.

 

They finish eating, and Kyungsoo brandishes a blanket from the picnic basket and wraps it around them as they lean on the thick tree trunk for support. Kyungsoo puffs out his cheeks before blowing his bangs off his eyes. Jongin looks at him for a while before clearing out the hair over his forehead. Kyungsoo gives him a cursory glance, his cheeks warming, then looks ahead again.

 

“What are you thinking?” Jongin asks, refusing to look away. He waits until Kyungsoo looks back at him and answers.

 

Kyungsoo does, his mouth pulled down with a frown. He says, “My mom.”

 

Jongin tries not to blanch and think of his own mom. It should be strange that he doesn’t even know what she looks like. “Do you miss her?” Jongin inquires.

 

“A little,” he tells him quietly, and Jongin understands that what Kyungsoo really means to say is that he misses her a lot. “She’s never spent Christmas alone before. I’ve always been there.”

 

Jongin snakes his arm around Kyungsoo’s waist, letting his side press to his. “You should ask her to come down here,” he suggests. It’s really, really quiet in the forest today, Jongin realizes.

 

“She’ll turn me down,” Kyungsoo shudders and sighs. “But I’ll ask anyway. Thanks.”

 

Jongin nods and allows Kyungsoo to scoot even closer and use his shoulder as a headrest. He kisses him on the forehead, and Kyungsoo tilts his head to look at him. 

 

“You must really like me,” Kyungsoo says. He sounds surprised again.

 

“Yeah, I do,” Jongin eyes him in confusion. Kyungsoo’s mouth is half-open and he looks adorable, but Jongin can’t help but feel put-out. Was Kyungsoo questioning his affections all this time? “Is it – am I making you uncomfortable?”

 

“No,” Kyungsoo replies, and it’s odd, the way he starts searching frantically at Jongin’s face for something. He pauses, and then says, “It’s just weird.”

 

Jongin sits up straight, letting go of him. His arms mourn the sudden loss of warmth but he pointedly ignores it. “Why is it weird?” He can’t keep the irritation from coating his words, sharp enough to scrape bark, and Kyungsoo flinches at this.  

 

“I don’t know,” he answers, voice so soft that Jongin had to strain his ear just to hear him. “I just never imagined you’d like me back.”

 

Jongin’s heart stops, and then restarts again.

 

Kyungsoo is staring at him strangely, his owlish eyes ridiculously wide and open, and Jongin exhales angrily. He slams his mouth onto the elder’s, nibbling on Kyungsoo’s lower lip a little, hoping he’ll somehow relay the want he feels, clear as day. Kyungsoo moans into his mouth as Jongin presses even harder, drawing out his shaky breath, and he feels dizzy at it, dizzy at the way Kyungsoo makes a quiet huff of laughter at the bow of his lips.

 

The kiss shifts into something long and breathless, and Kyungsoo has his hand under the hem of his shirt, and Jongin has him backed up on the tree trunk like before. It all turns into something heady, loud, relentless, making Jongin’s stomach clench and ache, and he knows he has to pull away now or they’ll both regret it.

 

Jongin disentangles from him and stares at Kyungsoo, at his wide eyes and wet lips. “You should stop using that word,” he says gruffly. “It’s not weird at all.”

 

“I have poor vocabulary,” Kyungsoo says, and his matter-of-fact tone makes Jongin’s lips twitch despite himself.

 

“Still,” Jongin sighs. “I really really do like you, so I get a bit…” He trails, searching for the right word.

 

Kyungsoo nods, seeming to get it. “Offended,” he says, finishing for him, and Jongin gives him a sheepish smile.

 

“It’s like when people say ‘I like you more’, and it’s ridiculous, like it’s some silly game, like there’s someone who’ll come out of it as either the winner or the loser, but that’s not how it works,” he says it all in one breath and inhales deeply, struggling to keep his voice steady. Maybe he’s scaring Kyungsoo with the way he’s looking at him right now, but fuck everything, Jongin has to say it _now_.

 

“Maybe it’s different for everyone else, but Kyungsoo hyung, my feelings for you are not something I can stuff in a jar with a pretty ribbon on top. I would if I could, so you could keep them with you forever since they’re yours, anyway – but even if I can’t, that doesn’t mean that they’re not real. It’s the realest _fucking_ thing I’ve _ever_ felt since you came around, and you have no idea, you have absolutely no idea –” He inhales again, desperately clinging on to Kyungsoo’s hand. “– how hurt I was when you didn’t talk to me for days, how it tore me up whenever I saw you sad, how ridiculously happy I was when you said you weren’t dating anybody, and I can’t fucking understand how you got that crazy notion that I don’t love…” Jongin sighs, trembling. He leans onto Kyungsoo’s forehead, and his wild, shaky breath stirring the hair on Kyungsoo’s temple.

 

His chest swells and swells, and he thinks his lungs are going to burst for real this time. It feels good, almost sickeningly sweet, to lay it all out in the open, and it’s almost worth it over the fact that Kyungsoo had grown completely still under his arms, like he’s been caught in a freeze frame.

 

Jongin doesn’t get to continue when Kyungsoo starts to move again, only to give him a tiny smile. “I’ve never really gotten this dating thing down to a t, you know?” he says all whisper-quiet, his eyes softening like he’s seeing a new version of Jongin unraveling before him. “I’ve never had anyone before you. Be a gentleman and work with me here.”

 

Jongin’s shoulders sag in relief. He’s forever pleased that Kyungsoo is teasing him instead of making it all serious, which would really have been awkward for both of them. “I’ve been nothing but gentle to you for months. It’s like feeding cotton candy to the devil,” Jongin retorts, and he tastes Kyungsoo’s salad when he licks the roof of his mouth. The admission makes him feel a bit guilty at his outburst, but really, it’s difficult to ignore the little jig inside his heart. “You should give me a raise.”

 

“I’ll think about it,” Kyungsoo murmurs. Jongin gets to admire the blotchy flush on his cheeks as he drags the younger man’s face lower, and Jongin’s chuckle gets lost somewhere when Kyungsoo kisses him, deep and thorough.

 

…

 

It’s December 25th, and there’s a snowman outside. Sehun had worked overtime last night to mold the snow into three gigantic white balls, and Jongin laughs as he recognizes the black hat on top of the snowman’s head. Yifan will kill him when he sees this.

 

“Wow,” is what Kyungsoo draws out when he sees the spectacle. He takes a picture of it with his smartphone, and Jongin watches from over his shoulder as Kyungsoo types _Merry Christmas!_ and attaches the picture to the text. He sends it to Tao, and his finger hovers over his mom’s name for a moment before he clicks _Send._

 

He makes a grab for the keys, but Jongin lifts his hand higher. “I’ll drive,” he says. “I actually _know_ where we’re going.”

 

“You could just give me directions,” Kyungsoo says hopefully, but Jongin shakes his head.

 

They lift up the straw mat over the jeep, sweeping the residual snow cresting over the windshield as one of the maids clears the path for them. Jongin jumps to his seat, turns on the ignition, and away they go.

 

Kyungsoo weighs his hat down with his hand as it flops against the wind, icy gusts howling along with the crunch of gravel and snow underneath the tires. They pass by the paddy fields through the small parcel of raked land designed for rovers and small trucks, and there are a few villagers walking near the logging path carrying their empty baskets to the public market.

 

Somewhere in the distance, Jongin hears a man singing an English Christmas song out of tune.

 

“Is it far?” Kyungsoo asks after a while. His voice shakes along with the jeep.

 

“Not that much,” Jongin answers. They veer to the left, avoiding a nosedive down a cliff. “We’ll get there in a few minutes, maybe.”

 

Kyungsoo nods, turning to the side, his lips pale and cracking against the cold. He starts singing the same Christmas song under his breath as they pass an abandoned set of houses, and Jongin inwardly thinks that Kyungsoo’s rendition of _Joy to the World_ is better.

 

The actual boundary of Daljong-myeon doesn’t start until they are several feet within the main gate. Jongin decelerates when they ride past the playground, and soon they stop near the cemented walls. He wedges a rock on both of the back tires to prevent the jeep from sliding downhill.

 

“I know this place,” Kyungsoo says. He stares at the opening of the brass gates coated in thick, heavy white sludge. “I passed by this when I went to see Cousin Ryeowook.”

 

Jongin affirms with a short nod. “Yep. This is my home. Or was, until your dad was nice enough to name himself as my official guardian.”

 

Compared to the fifteen feet high gates, the orphanage is unremarkably tiny, spanning around only a sixteenth of a hectare. It’s now run only through donations given by the people of Gumseo-do, since the government refused to subsidize the small establishment after a kid had stolen a huge amount of money from the funding itself and ran off to the city. With its gray-eggshell and white dull paint job, it’s a rather inconspicuous building, easy to miss; you’d walk right past it without knowing it was there and run straight to Ryeowook’s tipsy hut, but somehow Kyungsoo had noticed the place.

 

“There are only fourteen kids left,” Jongin tells him as they walk to the entrance. “Kyuhyun turned fourteen last year, so he’s off on his own now. He’s in Buryeong helping out with the coffee plantation.” Kyuhyun is a tall guy, taller than Jongin, with a pair of wide-set eyes on pale skin. He’s a nice person, Jongin thinks, who likes reenacting scenes from _Wrestle Mania_ with the rest of the village boys.

 

Kyungsoo buries half of his face in his black muffler. “You spend your Christmases with them?” he inquires when they arrive at the front door. The floorboards of the porch creak beneath them. “I thought you spent them on your own all the time.”

 

“I take them out of the orphanage alone, but I celebrate the holiday with them,” Jongin clarifies. He makes quick raps at the door with an almost loose hinge.

 

The door swings open violently. Both Jongin and Kyungsoo look down as a girl in pigtails waves her plastic Taurus in front of them.

 

“Oppa!” the girl screeches. She jumps to Jongin’s ready arms and tackles him with her free hand. Jongin laughs loud, grasping her by the waist and whirling her around. “Oppa, did you miss me? Look, look, look at me, oppa!” she squeals in delight. “Look at what I’m holding!”

 

Jongin sets her down, chuckling. “Is that a gun, Hyunhee? Where did you get that?”

 

“Minho oppa told me that dolls are dumb,” Hyunhee explains with the trademark cheerfulness of a six-year-old. “But Minho oppa didn’t want to play with me, and Byungjoon oppa didn’t want to play with me too, so I got myself a bang bang from the treasure chest!”

 

Jongin crouches down to her height and ruffles her hair just the way she likes it. Hyunhee flashes him a dazzling grin. “You want to be a soldier someday? Being a soldier is hard work.”

 

“Oohh! What’s a soldier, oppa?”

 

“A soldier is someone who asks permission before they get to play with a gun,” a new voice says from inside, and Jongin stands up and bows. “Hyunhee, please put that back inside the chest,” Yuri, the matron, says in a gentle voice.

 

“But it’s Christmas!” Hyunhee whines adorably. “It’s playtime day!”

 

“Yes, it is,” Yuri smiles at her, then at Jongin. “That’s why your Jongin oppa is here. He’s going to take you out sledding today with the rest of the kids.”

 

Hyunhee’s eyes glow like light beams reflected from emerald facets. She tugs on Jongin’s faded jeans insistently while Yuri laughs. “Do soldiers like to sled, oppa?” she questions. “Do they?”

 

“Uh-huh, especially girl soldiers. They’re really good at it,” Jongin assures her. “Go tell the rest of the happy camp, okay? Let’s have some extra fun today!”

 

Hyunhee runs to the second floor without further ado, calling her brethren as she shoots with her Taurus at random directions, the ‘ _papapapapang_ ’echoing across the living room. Yuri shakes her head in amusement before turning to them. “Would you like a cup of tea before you go, Jongin?”

 

“That’s okay, Yuri-ssi. The little mafia will keep me warm and toasty enough for this weather,” Jongin replies, grinning.

 

“You’ve turned into such a fine young man, Jongin-ah. I’m really grateful for today, as I always am every year.”

 

Jongin waves his hand. “Oh, this is really nothing. I love spending time with the kids.”

 

Yuri smiles at him, and it grows even wider when she looks over his shoulder. “Ahh! You must be Do Kyungsoo-ssi!”

 

Jongin turns around in surprise. To his shame, he almost forgot that Kyungsoo is here. The man is doing his uncanny ability to shrink against the shadows. Jongin laces his fingers around Kyungsoo’s hand and places the older man in front of him. He chuckles when Kyungsoo lets out a tiny hello.

 

“You look so much like your mother!” Yuri exclaims. She reaches out and touches the fringe of Kyungsoo’s hair as the male stills himself like an ice block. She smiles warmly at him. “How is Chunja, anyway?”

 

“She’s fine,” Kyungsoo answers, voice hoarse. “She’s retired now.”

 

“Really? What did she do in the city?”

 

“Advertising.”

 

“Ahhh,” Yuri hums merrily. “Chunja wasn’t much of a talker too. I guess you take after her a lot,” she remarks with a grin, and Kyungsoo blushes at this. Jongin watches him strain the ends of his coat at the corner of his eye, and it hits him that Kyungsoo had never mentioned his mother’s name before.

 

At that time the kids have already crowded at the doorway, and Jongin and Kyungsoo set off to the frozen courtyard.

 

“You’re really taking them sledding?” Kyungsoo blurts out. “Do you take them sledding every year?”

 

Jongin shakes his head. “Oh no. Last year we went to Olgwae. And the year before that we went to see the snake sanctuary in Gapak-myeon. And two years before that I took them hiking in Mt. Iwa –”

 

“So this is your ‘dangerous but not illegal’ Christmas tradition?” Kyungsoo cuts in. One end of his lip is quirked, forming an almost smirk.

 

“It’s more of a ‘Christmas adventure’, really. You know how much I love adventures.”

 

Kyungsoo snorts. “Nature boy.”

 

They take out the three sleds from the lumber room and pull them across the terrain with the ropes. The children are running around in excitement, with the oldest Hongjoo, a thirteen-year-old, ordering them all to stay close together and watch out for the slippery parts of the path. Hyunhee has her hand around Kyungsoo’s this time, her _Sailor Moon_ doll dragging its feet on the snow.

 

“Why are your eyes so big?” Jongin hears Hyunhee ask him out of the blue.

 

“I don’t know,” Kyungsoo answers simply. He rubs the tips of his nose with his gloved hand.

 

“But why are you wearing eyeglasses if your eyes are big?” Hyunhee asks again, undeterred.

 

“I have astigmatism,” Kyungsoo tells her patiently. He offers to carry _Sailor Moon_ on his coat pocket, and Hyunhee gladly agrees and hands her to him. “I have bad eyes, and the glasses makes me see better.”

 

“I want to have bad eyes too, so I can have big eyes like yours. They’re so pretty,” Hyunhee declares, and Jongin laughs quietly at the side.

 

They arrive at the top of the hill. Yuri must’ve cleared out the slope beforehand, the small rocks and obstacles discarded to the side where they won’t cause any harm or injury. Kyungsoo and Jongin drag the sleds in starting position. Hongjoo lends a hand by organizing the kids into two separate groups, and chasing after Hanbin and Junghyun who are happily playing tag near the ledge.

 

After getting the kids to settle down on their sleds, Jongin cups his hands against his mouth.

 

“Come on, come on!” He plonks himself at the tail end of a sled, giving way for another person to take the space at the front. “Hyung, hurry up! Get your hot ass over here!”

 

“The hell I’m getting on there!” Kyungsoo fires back, inching away from Jongin’s challenging grin. “I want to stay alive this Christmas!”

 

“It’s only like a ten foot drop! You’re not going to die. And if you do, I think Santa’ll survive without your chocolate chip cookies this year.”

 

“The wind is fucking cold, Jongin! I don’t want to –”

 

Kyungsoo doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Jongin snatches him by the wrist, wraps his arms around his body, and pushes the sled with his feet.

 

And down the hill they go. The frigid wind slams against their faces as they shoot straight below, the pull of gravity aiding their speed as Jongin hollers and laughs along with the rest of the kids. Their weight makes them zoom down much faster than Hyunhee and Minho, who were one of the first to take off. Jongin laughs even harder when he realizes that Kyungsoo is not making any sound, petrified and holding on for his dear life on the front seat.

 

In less than a minute, they arrive at the base of the hill. Hyunhee and Minho make an angry wail at them for finishing first.

 

Jongin clears out the snow on his pants and stands up first. He helps Kyungsoo stand, grabbing both of his hands when he notices the other man’s knees wobbling under his weight.

 

“See? I told you it was fun.”

 

After regaining his balance, Kyungsoo throws daggers at him. “Are you kidding me?” he seethes. “I can’t even feel my face!”

 

Jongin cackles and cups Kyungsoo’s face with his hands. He kisses his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his chin, and lastly, his lips. It takes a long time for them to break away.

 

“Better?” Jongin asks, waggling his eyebrows explicitly, and Kyungsoo rolls his eyes.

 

“I’m not doing that again,” he says finally, glaring at him weakly. “It was so cold, Jesus – I thought my skin was getting peeled off.”

 

Jongin only laughs and envelops him in a bear hug. He’ll have to do his best to warm up this grumpy elf of his before they go for another round at the top of the hill.

 

…

 

It’s past lunch time when Jongin and Kyungsoo return from the cliffside. It took a while for the kids to dislodge themselves from their sleds, and it definitely took a long time for them to say their goodbyes. Hyunhee was almost teary-eyed when Kyungsoo handed back her Sailor Moon doll, and she demanded that they spend more time together even if it isn’t Christmas.

 

The clouds are high and the snowfall isn’t as harsh as it was yesterday. As they drive by the people from the market all greet the duo with cheerful grins, happy from the good weather and the holiday cheer. Kyungsoo still isn’t used to the attention and, knowing the man, will never get used to it. He gives the townspeople an uneasy smile as they greet him a merry Christmas.

 

“Aren’t you our little celebrity,” Jongin says with a smirk, turning left to the junction just before the slide of aspen trees. “Maybe you should consider running for mayor next.”

 

Kyungsoo wrinkles his nose. “I don’t think I have what it takes,” he musters. “Running the silk business is hard enough as it is.”

 

Jongin chuckles. “How many weeks do we have until the City Prick comes to town?”

 

Kyungsoo bites his lower lip, thinking. “Three, four weeks tops. January will not be a good month.”

 

And Jongin goes, “Isn’t your birthday on the twelfth?” He distinctly remembers Kyungsoo complaining out loud that he couldn’t have Jongin cooing and pinching his cheeks every chance he got, and then unconsciously letting slip that he was turning twenty-six soon. Jongin casually asked Renshu about the date later over tea.

 

The look Kyungsoo gives him is unreadable. “Isn’t yours in the fourteenth?”

 

“Well, yeah,” Jongin replies, shelving his initial shock for later. Jongin’s sure he’s never mentioned his birthday before, and that they’ve never celebrated their birthdays together, even when they were kids. “Isn’t it cute, though, hyung, that we’re born only one day apart?” he muses out loud. “Does that really mean we’re meant to be?”

 

“You say the most useless of things,” Kyungsoo remarks, the tips of his ears turning red suddenly. “And it’s one year and a day apart to be exact.”

 

Jongin laughs, putting a hand around Kyungsoo’s neck. “Way to rain over my parade. Thank god I like you.”

 

“Keep your eyes on the road,” Kyungsoo orders, and Jongin obliges.

 

They drive in companionable silence for the rest of the trip. Jongin does let his eyes stray from the road from time to time, watching Kyungsoo watch the waxing birds fly over the canopy of Dai. He wants to ask Kyungsoo how he spends his birthdays and Christmases back in Seoul. It’s on the tip of his tongue, but he always swallows it back whenever he is about to saying it out loud.

 

Times like this make Jongin stop and think about Seoul, and the days he couldn’t even tell if it was morning or late in the afternoon with all the skyscrapers towering all over the city. It was a strange feeling to hear the honk of the cars instead of the bright humming of the village weavers.

 

They finally arrive at the front gate. Kyungsoo shimmies down from his seat, his nape flushed red and his hair flopping down above his eyebrows with a soft flop as he goes. Jongin dislodges himself from his seatbelt after he parks the jeep.

 

“You’ve been gone almost half a day,” a grave voice says, and it makes Jongin sober up in a matter of seconds. He turns and gapes at the woman holding a thick embroidered scarf underneath her arm. He looks at Kyungsoo sideways, and watches as the elder’s face drains of color.

 

“Mom,” Kyungsoo breathes, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

 

“Don’t give me that look,” Chunja says. “You’re the one who invited me here.”

 

“N-no, I meant to say…” And Kyungsoo sighs then, looking at her by the fringe of his hair. “Forget it. What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be out in the cold.”

 

“I should say the same thing for you. You’ve always hated going out in Christmas because of the snow.” Chunja gives Jongin a cursory glance, and Jongin unconsciously blanches.

 

Kyungsoo doesn’t miss the small exchange and discretely gathers Jongin’s fingers in his palm. “Mom, this is Jongin –”

 

“I know who he is,” she interrupts, smiling at Jongin wryly. She vacates the entrance without another word, leaving deep footprints behind her.

 

Jongin polishes off the snow on his shoulder and turns to Kyungsoo. He fights back from commenting on how Chunja and Kyungsoo look eerily alike, from the dark hair and pale skin, to the wide, intimidating eyes. He probably gets that a lot already from others.

 

He remembers his first impression with Kyungsoo hadn’t been the best of all first impressions, but Chunja’s definitely takes the cake. The woman looks like a ghost straight out from Dai. Jongin shudders.

 

All Jongin can say with certainty is that, “Your mother hates me.”

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Kyungsoo replies, looking very distracted, and Jongin doesn’t point out that he’s not exactly denying anything.

 

They follow her inside the manor. The cook has already set out the table for late lunch per Chunja’s request, and Jongin sees Minseok hanging far by the kitchen counter along with the rest of the maids. They’re all probably shocked that the mistress of the house came back to Gumseo-do after nineteen long years.  

 

“Who invited her for the holiday cheer?” Minseok whispers as soon as Jongin arrives in the kitchen hall. All the maids lean their heads closer, conspiratorially, and Jongin grimaces.

 

“Kyungsoo did,” he mutters. “He misses her, so I told him to invite her over for Christmas.”

 

“Master Do doesn’t look pleased at all, though,” one of the maids observes, and Yoorae shushes her.

 

After showing her around the manor, Kyungsoo gives Chunja a seat across from him on the table. It’s a strange feeling though, to see Kyungsoo in the dining area he never uses. He always eats by himself or with Jongin inside the kitchen room. It must’ve struck odd for Kyungsoo too; he fidgets and relentlessly attacks the loose strings on his sweater.

 

Jongin hears the same maid ask Yoorae, “Is she here to take Master Do away again?” He feels an ice bucket drench him from head to toe. Minseok gives him a wayward glance, arching an eyebrow at Jongin’s expression.

 

The answer is almost too obvious that Yoorae only settles with a sigh. She says, “Don’t worry. Kyungsoo’s not going anywhere.”

 

 

The soup is simmering as it gets laid on the table. Kyungsoo urges Jongin to sit right next to him, though the latter doesn’t really have much of an appetite for the moment. Jongin sits as still as he can and takes Kyungsoo’s cold hand under the table, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb.

 

“You seem better,” Chunja says. “The island must be treating you well.”

 

“It’s home,” Kyungsoo answers, sincerity ringing loudly in those two words. “How long will you be staying?”

 

“Until the day after tomorrow. I have a friend who’s having her bridal shower. It’s a must for me to attend.”

 

“Is this Migyeong-ssi?”

 

Chunja’s eyes crinkle in return. It knocks the wind out of Jongin – she really looks so much like Kyungsoo even when she smiles. “You remember her. I’m glad.”

 

Kyungsoo nods, smiling a little. “I haven’t seen her for a while. Tell her I wish her well,” he says, taking a spoonful of rice. “Let me show you around town tomorrow, Mom. The peaches aren’t in season in Seoul, but they still sell them here in the public market. I know you love peaches.”

 

Chunja’s eyes dart towards the pictorial scroll hanging above the high ceiling. “A lot of things have changed around here,” she says enigmatically.

 

“We’ve been gone for almost two decades,” Kyungsoo replies. “You couldn’t expect everything to stay put until we came back.”

 

Chunja’s mouth curls at this. She plunges her fork on the platter of fried quail eggs. “You’ve made quite an impression with the locals. Yoorae-ssi has been telling me all about it.”

 

“It was a joint effort,” Kyungsoo says, letting himself smile a little. Jongin feels a warm pressure on his hand. “Everything’s going great with the silk business, Mom. I think the people are a lot happier now.”

 

The curl on Chunja’s lips curls even more, like she’s amused at something. “You should’ve seen your father get all riled up over the town’s problems, the ones that Mayor Kang should’ve been fixing. Didn’t even think of his family as much as he should.”

 

Kyungsoo pauses, his face retreating into an impenetrable mask, before saying, “It’s part of his job, and I’m taking care of it since he’s gone. Daljong-myeon’s better off now than they were back then.”

 

“Well, _now_ , because you’re here,” Chunja responds. “But without you, how long do you think they would last? You’re doing _exactly_ what your father did. Haven’t you learned, Kyungsoo? If you really want to help, you should hand over the reins to Renshu and let the people fend for themselves.”

 

“You’re right,” Kyungsoo says after a while. “And I’ll be doing exactly that, but these things take time. A representative of the MTC and a real-estate agent are knocking on our doors and asking to turn our ancestors’ lands into a luxury hotel.” His fingers are twitching over his spoon. “Who knows what will happen next, Mom, if I leave right now? They’ll ask to turn the whole town into a resort next, probably take down the orphanage by the cliffside, and the people won’t be able to say no to them because they can’t. This place is who they are, Mom. It’s who _we_ are. We can’t let them destroy it.”

 

“And you’re not leaving even after all this is over.”

 

“No, I won’t. We’ve already talked about this. Let’s not start all over again.”

 

Chunja’s gaze shoots to Jongin’s direction, glaring at him. “Is this because of this boy?” she accuses, still glowering heavily at Jongin. “Is it because of him? What did he tell you that he roped you into this? Got you playing around the snow, maybe took you to a wild adventure in the woods?”

 

“Calm down, Mom _,”_ Kyungsoo says through his spoon, sipping the broth as quietly as he goes. Jongin can see the vein pulsing on his neck and the heavy rise and fall of his chest. His eyes are looking past her shoulder, ominously blank.

 

Chunja raps a delicate nail on the table, arching a thin eyebrow. “Do not argue with me, Kyungsoo,” she says rather fiercely, making sure to look explicitly at Jongin while she speaks. “Have you forgotten how this boy broke you?”

 

The words immediately shove Jongin back from the haze he’s been walking in; sobriety is quick and smacks him at the face. There’s a crack in Kyungsoo’s expression as well, widening rapidly and crumbling the brick foundations one by one. 

 

“Yes, and Jongin’s putting me back together again,” Kyungsoo snaps, putting his spoon down with enough force to frighten the maids behind them. “Unlike somebody I know.”

 

Chunja’s lips are pursed into a severe line as she raises her voice. “I’m sorry then if you see it that way, but all I’ve done was to protect you, Kyungsoo.”

 

“And you have done an _incredible_ job, really. Give yourself a few pats on the back while you’re at it,” Kyungsoo hisses darkly, sarcasm hard and vicious enough to chip enamel. “Why don’t you show them all those pictures of me you keep in your wallet – all those years of me stuck in training wheels – how insanely _proud_ you must be, A brave, single mom bragging to anyone who gives a flying fuck about her twenty-five–year-old son who cowers behind her shadow.”

 

This is what Jongin didn’t want. This isn’t supposed to happen on Christmas day, or on any other day. “Kyungsoo hyung –”

 

“You are coming home with me when I say so,” Chunja cuts in, lighting sharp. She’s trembling under her wool pullover, and the look on her face is aghast – this must be the first time Kyungsoo has ever spoken his mind. “Stop this shit-for-brains attitude,” she flounders. “I am your _mother._ ”

 

“But you’re not my father,” Kyungsoo says. He’s only whispering now, but his voice fills the room like acid. A maid gasps in shock, but it gets sucked in immediately by the roaring vortex at the right end of the table. “You’ll never be both. You knew I missed Dad even before I knew it myself. You knew how miserable I was in the city, how terribly homesick I was. I was never myself when I was around you, and you never fucking gave me any options. It was always about you, and your stupid social gatherings, and your stupid Kyungsoo Protection Program. Well, guess what? That isn’t how it works here. You don’t get to run this town.”

 

Chunja stands from her seat quickly and Jongin follows, but Kyungsoo’s not finished.

 

“I was never right in the head. You knew it and you were so ashamed of it – you controlled me until you convinced yourself I was never sick. You even got me that stupid job I never wanted.” Kyungsoo glowers, and Jongin watches Chunja as she slowly drains of color, as her son’s features break away into bits and pieces, eyes inky and bright. This is Kyungsoo _angry_ , eerily handsome and bone-bleached furious, an inhuman version of Kyungsoo that hasn’t been provoked out of its shell for the longest time.

 

“I lost Daljong-myeon, I lost Dad, I lost my _sanity._ ” Kyungsoo jabs his fingers at her repeatedly with each word, his voice cracking like he can’t help it. “Everything I wanted, everyone I cared about, everything I _needed –_ I always _always_ lose those things because of you!”

 

The echo of his voice bounces back and forth against the walls. The temperature drops, and Chunja makes a drowning noise at the back of her throat.

 

Abruptly, the expression on Kyungsoo’s face crashes – as if using Minhyuk and the voices to get back at her, he’s overstepped the final line he vowed he would never cross. Kyungsoo’s lost something again, all because of his mother.

 

The waves of anger and resentment are black and thick and viscous. Jongin’s hands fall as he sees Kyungsoo directing it all at himself.

 

He stands up from his chair and doesn’t say anything anymore. They all watch as Kyungsoo disappears to the hallway, letting the darkness swallow him whole.

 

Chunja crumples to the floor and cries. All the maids rush over to her as she nurses her head with her hands like a wounded animal, and Jongin stands still, frozen, as he watches everything unfold.

 

…

 

The front gates are well-lit at night. They don’t have Christmas lights to hang around the stilt posts, but the lanterns from the festival two weeks ago are even better than torches as they light the brisk pathways.

 

From the small space under the door, he can see that the light in Kyungsoo’s room is also still on. Jongin peers at his wrist watch. It’s already eleven in the evening. Kyungsoo hasn’t been out for nine hours.

 

Jongin knocks on the door. 

 

It creaks as it opens slowly. Kyungsoo is already dressed for bed, his shirt draping over his small frame very loosely, and the ends of his black cotton pants sweeping the cold wooden floor. His eyes are wide open.

 

“Hey,” Jongin says. “You need company?”

 

“No,” Kyungsoo responds, his voice gruff, but he slides the door wide enough for Jongin to enter.

 

A huge mat of post-its cover the left side wall of Kyungsoo’s bedroom, just below the shelves hammered near the ceiling. Jongin sees the tiny footstool settled right next to the wardrobe, and he almost snickers.

 

He watches as Kyungsoo packs up all his things on his working table and resettles them into his bag, cleaning up the place. Jongin smiles and drags Kyungsoo to the mattress. The bed isn’t that huge, but it’s still bigger than Jongin’s. It used to be Minhyuk’s bed after all.

 

They flop on the bed noisily, making Kyungsoo chuckle a little. Jongin places an arm on the small of his back and tugs him closer until their chests are pleated together. Kyungsoo feels very warm under his touch, and Jongin grins over Kyungsoo’s hair.

 

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” Kyungsoo says with a smirk in his voice, and Jongin pushes himself up onto his elbow until he can see Kyungsoo’s face. He stares until the tell-tale blush fans across Kyungsoo’s nose and cheeks, and he erupts into a peal of laughter.

 

“Yes, yes I am,” Jongin says, kissing him lazily. Kyungsoo glares at him right after, but with no spirit.

 

“You know, my mom is only four bedrooms away,” Kyungsoo intones. “And as you’ve seen,” he scowls, “she’s not exactly the accommodating type.”

 

Jongin shrugs, which is difficult to do in his current position. “Well, yeah, but you’re not going to get any more sleep, aren’t you, if I’m not here? You need all the energy you can get to show her around tomorrow.”

 

Kyungsoo’s expression darkens considerably. He sighs, his hot breath travelling all over Jongin’s face. “I can sleep without you. I’m not a kid.” He sighs again. “And it’s better if I don’t have any energy tomorrow, so we won’t be able to fight anymore like today.”

 

“I’m getting the feeling that’s the last fight you two will ever have,” Jongin says. “And it’s probably the first fight you’ve ever had with her too, right?”

 

Kyungsoo frowns deeply but doesn’t answer. He curls his hand around the back of Jongin’s neck and meshes their lips, a little bit harshly than Jongin is used to from him, and they kiss until their mouths probably taste the same. Jongin’s hand drifts down to Kyungsoo’s cheek, to the soft corner of his shoulder, tracing it heatedly with his index finger, and something shifts.

 

Kyungsoo’s weight steadily sinks into Jongin’s front, and Jongin grabs a fistful of his shirt, pulling it purposefully. Their mouths start chasing each other, with Kyungsoo licking the swell on Jongin’s bottom lip. Jongin gives a surprised moan, his eyes shooting open immediately. He makes the mistake of inhaling the heady scent of Kyungsoo’s hair, and his fingers start treading all over his scalp, tugging it a little harder, nails scraping, and he thinks he’s lost it when Kyungsoo starts panting on his neck, parting his legs.

 

It then starts getting messy, all heated, urging noises, until Kyungsoo nips at the sensitive part in Jongin’s neck, and instinctively, Jongin’s hips roll up to slam onto Kyungsoo’s lower body.

 

Kyungsoo gasp in surprise, but before Jongin can whisper an urgent _‘I’m sorry’_ to him, he does it again, licking and biting at that same damn spot. Jongin lets out a horrible moan of pleasure as his hips start rocking onto Kyungsoo’s crotch. It doesn’t help that he can feel Kyungsoo’s hard-on against his trackpants or that Kyungsoo is kissing him sinfully on his neck, under his jaw, on his collarbones.

 

Jongin growls, flipping them both until he’s on top. All he sees is Kyungsoo’s eyes widening at him until he dives in and smashes his lips onto his, grinding his hardening dick onto Kyungsoo’s crotch, and he grins as Kyungsoo lets out a strangled whimper underneath him.

 

Kyungsoo’s hands settle on his lower back, his nails scraping a little on the flushed skin as he thrusts himself up, meeting every movement of Jongin’s hips hungrily, and Jongin’s eyes almost roll up at the deep ache between his legs.

 

“Fuck,” Jongin swears, as he feels his cock twitching at the upcoming release, the waves of pleasure intensifying. He continues to rut against Kyungsoo’s crotch and hears Kyungsoo let out one gratifying moan after another.

 

Kyungsoo’s face twists. “J-Jongin,” he says shakily as the thrusts speed up with wild ferocity. “I’m going to -”

 

“Sshh, it’s okay. Come for me,” Jongin whispers, locking lips with him again immediately. His tongue quirks and licks the roof of Kyungsoo’s mouth, and that’s all it takes for Kyungsoo to burst, loudly, and Jongin has to clamp his mouth as Kyungsoo shudders and comes underneath him, the liquid pool of warmth spreading on the soft cloth of their pants.

 

It doesn’t take too long for Jongin to come too. It’s Kyungsoo’s turn to clamp his mouth with his hand as Jongin lets out a guttural groan when a flash of white clouds his vision and a torrent of pure ecstasy hits him repeatedly like a battering ram.

 

Jongin collapses on top of him, shivering, his chest heaving against Kyungsoo’s. Kyungsoo’s eyes are bright and penetrating in the dark, his body thin and hard against him, and the thrill that Jongin can put his hands _anywhere_ , and that Kyungsoo might not even stop him, makes him go dizzy again.

 

So Jongin pushes himself off of Kyungsoo, all the while straining to catch his breath.  He thinks about Chunja a few doors away from them, the fight that happened earlier, and he stops himself from scowling. This wasn’t the kind of distraction he had in mind. He hopes Kyungsoo won’t be upset with him.

 

Kyungsoo is about to stand when Jongin holds him by the cuff. “Where are you going?”

 

“Restroom?” Kyungsoo replies, his voice hitching at the last syllable, and Jongin can’t help but laugh. “Aren’t we going to clean ourselves up?”

 

“Woah, hey. The maids are going to think something happened when the two of us come out of the same room looking like this. Well they would be right, but you get what I mean.”

 

Kyungsoo makes a face, but is undeterred by his logic. Feet waddling, he sets himself down onto the pillow, back to Jongin’s arms. He sighs. “That was intense,” he says in a monotone.

 

This time, Jongin laughs really loud. “I didn’t know you wanted me that bad,” he teases, and Kyungsoo whacks him hard on the stomach.

 

“Says the person who dry-humped me to oblivion.” Kyungsoo snorts and rolls his eyes. His fingers find the slice of exposed tan skin between Jongin’s shirt and his waistband and settles there. Jongin throws him a look, while Kyungsoo just arches a wicked eyebrow at him.

 

“Well I wouldn’t have if you weren’t acting steamy in the first place,” Jongin says, eyeing the hand on his stomach, before moving up to Kyungsoo’s blushing face. “Don’t blame me for anything, hyung – my body just reacts to everything you do.”

 

Kyungsoo gives him a tiny smile before retrieving his hold. “Sorry,” he tells him. “I won’t do that again.”

 

“No!” Jongin really can’t believe he’s saying this out loud. His cheeks fume as he replies, “Did you even hear any of the weird noises I made? I _really_ liked it. Just – I know you tend to overthink things because that’s what you do, but don’t overthink this, okay?”

 

Kyungsoo bites his lower lip before nodding, and Jongin breaks into a grin. He chuckles again.

 

“I do think about having sex with you,” Kyungsoo mumbles. “Well, not all the time but… wow. What is this? Forget I said anything.” He tries to hide his face under the pillow, but Jongin is relentless, especially in this state, and tickles Kyungsoo's sides until he laughs and gives up. He then sighs, heavily, before pinching Jongin’s arm.

 

With a quiet huff of laughter, Jongin tugs at him until they’re resting on each other, and he turns his head to give Kyungsoo a sloppy kiss. When they break apart, Kyungsoo rests his forehead on his chest, and Jongin is positive that the other can hear the rapid pounding of his heart, close to bursting in white-hot joy.

 

“Look, this is just me being unreasonably happy, Kyungsoo,” Jongin confesses. “I really didn’t know you would want me in _that_ way. I mean, come on.”

 

“It’s a package deal when it comes to you,” Kyungsoo says in a weird tone, like he can’t believe it himself, and Jongin grins.

 

“I’m glad I’m not the only one acting like a hormonal kid and stuff. I’m not saying that I’m going to jump you anytime soon, but seriously.” Jongin winks at him, and Kyungsoo gives a delighted, husky laugh. “You’re really something, hyung.”

 

“Mhmm.” Kyungsoo nuzzles his neck. It sends tingles across Jongin’s skin, leaving a tightness forming in his gut. Before Jongin can say anything, Kyungsoo beats him to it, asking, “You’ve had someone before, right?”

 

“Are you asking if I’m not a virgin anymore?”

 

“Maybe,” Kyungsoo says vaguely, and Jongin snickers, knowing it’s a yes.

 

“It was a tourist. Had two nights with him,” Jongin says lightly, and Kyungsoo resurfaces from his neck to look at him. “Told me in his last day in town that he had a girlfriend he had to go back to in Jamsil.”

 

Kyungsoo’s gaze is boring holes at the side of his face, but he keeps his own at the ceiling. Jongin smiles, a bit wistful. “Yeah. Maybe there’s just something about me that reminds people that there are better things worth keeping.”

 

Kyungsoo unhooks his fingers from Jongin’s waistband and places them on Jongin’s forehead, keeping his sweaty hair up so he can see his eyes. He probably sees something in there, swirling within Jongin’s dark irises, and says, “I almost got to it at work. It was with another department manager. His name was Kim Junmyeon. We were all drunk one night, after a meeting where all of us got roughed-up by the head of the division, and it was dark and there was an open closet…” He rakes in a deep breath before continuing, “That was the time I found out I liked boys.”

 

Jongin rips his gaze from the ceiling and turns his head slightly to him. Kyungsoo is frowning, and Jongin cranes his neck to kiss the corner of his mouth.

 

“Scared the shit out of me too.” Kyungsoo laughs a bit. “I called off from work and stayed in bed for a week. Mom was furious.”

 

“What’s new?” Jongin chuckles, but it dies too quickly. To fill in the silence, he says, “You know, we really don’t have to do it if you’re scared of it. The sex, I mean.”

 

Kyungsoo looks at him, slightly exasperated. “It wasn’t more than a few minutes ago that I admitted to fantasizing about having sex with you,” he says. “I was scared about liking boys before, but it’s different now. It’s different with you.”

 

“Okay, tiger.” Jongin laughs, letting relief wash over him. “I get it.”

 

“I hate repeating myself, Jongin,” he mumbles, pouting. “Especially about things like that. It’s embarrassing.”

 

“That’s why you have me to say all the cheesy stuff to,” Jongin says happily. “I’m impervious to shame from the dreaded cheese.”

 

“I can see that,” Kyungsoo says, rolling his eyes before his gaze softens, smiling a bit. “Thanks. For not letting my mom get to you.”

 

“Nah. I get parents chasing me out all the time,” Jongin says, and Kyungsoo chuckles, no doubt remembering that story about Yura’s mother threatening to cut off Jongin’s vital parts. “I’m more worried about you and Chunja-ssi, though. That’s why I came here in the first place.”

 

“I got that feeling, yeah.” Kyungsoo sighs and rubs the back of his nape. “I never should have yelled at her.”

 

Jongin shrugs. “You were whispering more than yelling, hyung, but I think she heard every word you said,” he says, and Kyungsoo visibly blanches at this. Jongin pads his index finger on his mouth, feather-light against Kyungsoo’s plush lips. “But it was good for you to let out a bit of steam. When you first came here, you were this big ball of nerves in a fifty thousand won tie. Honestly, everyone was waiting for you to spontaneously combust.” Jongin frowns at the hurried furrow between Kyungsoo’s eyebrows. “And today happens to be that day, I guess.”

 

“Is she angry?”

 

 _That’s not the right question_ , Jongin thinks. He’s heard all the possible reasons right from the horse’s mouth, and the last thing Kyungsoo needs is a simple _yes_ or _no._ So he asks, “Are you angry at her?”

 

Kyungsoo peeks at him from under his eyelashes, and then looks down. “I think so,” he says in a low murmur.

 

Jongin smiles softly at him. He lands a comforting hand on his thigh. “Take her to Hamija tomorrow. She’ll love it there.” He’d seen how Kyungsoo’s eyes had lightened up at the sight of the warm soda pools. He’d loved it there too. From Jongin’s experience, love is a much stronger emotion than anger.

 

“Alright,” Kyungsoo says, combing his fingers through Jongin’s hair. His eyes are glittering like beetle shells, and Jongin wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him close. Oddly, Kyungsoo’s hair smells of mint instead of coconut, and Jongin is reminded that it’s the first time he’s spent Christmas like this, with someone cocooned around his arms tightly. He catches himself almost wishing for some snowstorm to crop up so that Kyungsoo will stay in (and maybe stay like this in his arms for a really long time). And it’s stupid, really, since he wants Chunja and Kyungsoo to make up as soon as possible.

 

So he just cherishes the last minutes of Christmas day and hugs Kyungsoo a bit tighter than necessary, earning a low, quiet hum of laughter from the older man. Jongin only gives him a husky chuckle in return and stays silent until Kyungsoo falls asleep.

 

It just feels good, having someone you love with you. It feels really, really nice.

 

…

 

This time, it’s Chunja’s room Jongin visits. The door had been slightly ajar when Jongin knocked, and he’s forever thankful that Chunja hadn’t exactly yelled at him in a fit of anger or any of that sort when she saw it was him. Instead, she calmly let him in when he asked to help her pack for home.

 

“Daljong-myeon isn’t her home now,” Kyungsoo told him yesterday, after Chunja and he came back from Hamija. He looked exhausted from the trip, but seemed brighter. “Or at least, Daljong-myeon stopped being one for nineteen years. She says she moved on ever since she left for the city.”

 

Somehow, the idea of leaving – and never wanting to look back – scares Jongin. He comforts himself on the fact that the sailors he sees from the docks will always sail back home, with the waves to thrust them onto the shores and the constellations to guide them on a clear night. There are no Admiral Chings or Ta Mins or any conquests for a long begotten kingdom.

 

“That one goes with the rest of the hydrangeas,” Chunja instructs him, pulling him out of his daze. Jongin blinks at the potted sprout on his hand, but it doesn’t blink back. “Just settle it down right there. I’ll have the maids give me a bag for that one.”

 

Jongin nods quietly and places it among a small row of hydrangeas that haven’t bloomed yet. He knows it would look beautiful in March, planted on a front yard in Seoul. He wonders if the garden Chunja keeps in the city is as big as the one they have here in Daljong-myeon.

 

Chunja starts humming a tune that Jongin slowly recognizes as he rearranges the silk scarves in gift wraps. He mumbles a quick verse of _Ode to the Evening Heavens_ under his breath, and Chunja, who seems to have heard him, pauses.

 

She straightens from her suitcase and looks at him straight in the eye. “Kyungsoo has trouble sleeping,” she says, enunciating every syllable with care. Her brow rises as she waits for Jongin to speak.

 

“I know,” is all Jongin can say, feeling awfully exposed under her gaze. He tries to keep his knees steady.

 

“I used to sing to him before, even until he was old enough to have his own room. He gets restless most of the time.”

 

“I don’t have a great voice like yours,” Jongin says weakly. “I can’t sing, but I try to accompany him when I can. So he won’t, you know, be frightened from the noises.”

 

Chunja’s eyebrows reach the mountains this time, but she doesn’t comment on Jongin’s statement. She only sighs and bends back to her suitcase.

 

They stay quiet after a while, until Chunja breaks the silence again. “Take care of him,” she says quietly, and Jongin can hear everything in her voice. Her face looks strained, like she wants to cry.

 

Daljong-myeon might not be her home anymore, Jongin thinks, but Kyungsoo is. And she’s leaving him here, in a town she’s grown to detest.

 

Jongin’s never been good with crying people before – he’s never been put in the position where he has to do the comforting. “I will, Chunja-ssi,” he reassures her. “I’ll do everything for Kyungsoo.”

 

She searches Jongin’s face and her posture relaxes, even just for a tiny bit. She takes in a shuddering breath. “Please tell him to answer his phone once in a while, alright?” she whispers, her voice wet. “He clearly hates it, but I can’t help it. I worry about him a lot.”

 

“That’s understandable. He’s your son,” Jongin says. “He’s always been your boy.”

 

“Well, he’s not just mine now, is he?” Chunja says. Despite her glistening eyes, she gives him a dry smile, and before Jongin can make sure he really saw it, Chunja is turning her back against him, facing the window. Jongin can only slip back to the scarves, humming the old folk song in his head as he goes.

 

…

 

“Bye,” Kyungsoo says.

 

It’s too short, Jongin thinks, and if he were him, Jongin would say a long and proper ‘Goodbye’, probably drop a tear or two, but Chunja seems to understand this better than anyone. She only nods in response and kisses her son on the forehead, her slightly wrinkled hands lingering a bit on Kyungsoo’s cheek, before mounting her suitcase on the steel platform.

 

Jongin fidgets as he watches them both move far away from one another. He feels rather intrusive as he watches them talk with their eyes, communicating only with the flash and curl of their irises. Jongin thought he’d already gotten his hand around the art of eye-speaking, with all the practice he had with Kyungsoo, but watching the two makes it very clear that he still has a lot to learn.

 

Kyungsoo doesn’t speak, even as the ferry sounds its horn and Captain Lee howls orders at the top of his lungs. But his shoulders are hunched together, balking as the tides push the vessel away, and Jongin instinctively knows that Kyungsoo misses her already.

 

…

 

“Why are you tip-toeing?” Kyungsoo asks him, his facial features twisted in confusion. The little wrinkle on his nose looks exceptionally cute, in Jongin’s opinion. “You’re not strutting like you usually do.”

 

“You might step on the home of a mystical creature. They’re always close to mounds like this,” Jongin explains as he deftly glides around an ant hill. The snow hasn’t been that harsh for this season, and some of the grass blades are already peeking out of the white blankets under the sunlight. “You might run into something if you’re not careful.”

 

“Like elves?”

 

“ _Exactly_ like elves,” Jongin says. “I haven’t seen any old, powerful, woodland creatures stinking with magic and fairy dust myself, but we locals have always treated Dai as a sacred place.”

 

“Probably enough for you to drop all your swagger,” Kyungsoo says with a grin. “What a giant leap for mankind.”

 

“You’re hilarious, hyung,” Jongin retorts, and he successfully crosses the path without disturbing any of the mounds. He smirks at Kyungsoo. “Now, your turn.”

 

Kyungsoo tries to stand on his toes and swings his left leg across, carefully treading the soft snow and avoiding the mound. His eye twitches as he moves, tongue sticking out in concentration, before leaping to the other side. He accidentally elbows Jongin on the chest, and Jongin wheezes theatrically, even though he wasn’t hit that hard.

 

“Hyung –” Jongin coughs, clutching a hand to his heart and sinks his knees on the snow, rolling his eyes backward. “Help! I’m dying –”

 

“You’re so retarded,” Kyungsoo says dryly, but he’s biting back a laugh. He flicks Jongin on the forehead before holding him up by the wrist. Jongin beams at him as he lets himself get dragged.

 

“And my Kyungsoo is such a heartless jerk,” Jongin jeers, grinning. They walk past the looming tree trunks that have been nailed with wooden markers for the trail. “‘Fess up, hyung. You hit me on purpose.”

 

Kyungsoo snorts. “Right, because maiming you and wasting my time thinking of a great place to bury your body is enthralling,” he says. “How much more do we need to walk?”

 

Jongin purses his lips. He seizes a handful of grass underneath the rocks and says, “A few more minutes. We’ll get to the foot of Mt. Iwa if we take this path here, just past the fields of sumacs. They’re not in bloom though since it’s still winter.”

 

Kyungsoo shrugs. “I don’t understand why you’re taking me to see a giant statue of a guy who sat on his ass for years, waiting for some mystical eureka.”

 

“It’s called _Enlightenment_ , hyung.” Jongin chuckles. “And everybody should pay their respects to the Amita. We had a really great year, don’t you think so?”

 

“Maybe,” Kyungsoo mumbles, his eyes flickering to something distant. Jongin wonders if Kyungsoo is hearing something again, and needles him to walk faster.

 

They reach the first stair from the pedestal, about six feet away from the clay-brown statue of Buddha that looms over the tall outgrowths. Blankets of moss and clovers shield the two posts on each side of the pedestal beside the rotting wood, which used to be part of the temple where the people prayed, meditated, and hung tokens.

 

Kyungsoo cranes his neck up to get a good look of Buddha’s snow-crusted face. He snaps a picture of it with his camera. “How old is this?” he asks, cheeks puffed.

 

“About a hundred years,” Jongin says. “This gigantic monolith is part of Gibo, actually. When Mt. Iwa erupted, this statue of Amita is the only thing that survived. So yeah, before the year ends I always come here.” He smiles softly, looking up. “If this chunk of stone sat through a volcanic eruption plus another ninety years, I think I can withstand anything too.”

 

Kyungsoo stares at him then, his big, wide eyes going distant with thought. His eyebrows knead themselves together, before saying, “My friend Tao teaches Astronomy in Hanyang.”  


Jongin gives him a bemused look. “Your Chinese friend?”

 

“Yeah,” Kyungsoo nods, frowning a little. “In _Hanyang University_ ,” he repeats, stressing the last word explicitly. He throws him a meaningful look. “Ring any bells?”

 

And it just strikes Jongin abruptly; his stomach lurches in a sickening manner that he almost grabs the wooden post to steady himself. “How did you know about that?” Jongin asks eventually after a minute’s beat, his voice not above a whisper. He’s sure he didn’t tell anyone, not even Minseok.

 

“I was speaking to Tao the other day and a name came up.” A blush starts to form on Kyungsoo’s cheeks, but it goes away as fast as it came. Kyungsoo then steps a bit closer to Jongin, startling him. “He told me about a fair this person entered on his junior year. Something about fishes not getting enough oxygen and vitamin C. It got first place in almost every research fair there was in the Seoul area too. There was a Japanese professor who’s now a colleague of Tao’s that was impressed, and gave this guy a full grant and all. He said it took him until the a few days before summer started to respond, and it was a no.”

 

Jongin thinks back on the night before his last final exam for Dendrology. He remembers seeing the date on his bedside calendar – it was July 10th, the night before Daljong-myeon and the rest of the island celebrated Chilseok for that year. He remembers packing all of his stuff. It all fit inside one tiny suitcase.

 

Yoorae was the first one to greet him on the front porch, flushed and garbed with the finest silk robes.

 

“Why are you back already?” she asked, holding him gently by the shoulders and frowning. “Were you sick? You should’ve called.”

 

Jongin had smiled, showing all teeth. “Nah. The Seoulites don’t make as good sirutteok as much as you do, Mom.”

 

All his friends were surprised that day, but they kept silent. None of them told Jongin they missed him.

 

Jongin looks down, avoiding Kyungsoo’s penetrating gaze. “Don’t tell them,” he mumbles.

 

“What? That you gave up Yokohama?”

 

Jongin flinches at the steel in Kyungsoo’s words. He thinks of bullet trains and skyscrapers and geisha hair looking like pagodas. He thinks of Kyungsoo and heart-shaped laughs and holding somebody close every night. “It’s not my sort of city. Besides, even my colloquial Japanese is shit.”

 

Kyungsoo startles him by looking confused again. “The Jongin I knew when I was kid would’ve done anything to see the rest of the world,” Kyungsoo goes, his facial expressions looking a bit strained. He scowls deeply. “I thought – I thought that part of you hadn’t changed.”

 

 _You’d been gone too long_ , Jongin thinks. Having people leave him had hurt. Jongin never wants to inflict that same kind of twisted pain to the people he cares so much about. “Please don’t tell them about it or they’ll get angry.”

 

“I won’t. It’s your life,” Kyungsoo says sullenly.

 

“Wait,” Jongin says, seizing Kyungsoo’s wrist before he trails back to the path. Kyungsoo’s eyes flash, and Jongin can’t understand why he’s so angry. He lets him go and inhales sharply.

 

“It’s like how your mom feels about you,” Jongin says slowly, trying to explain. He watches as Kyungsoo’s expression fades into nothing, forming another mask. “Not too long ago, she came here to ask you to come back to the city with her, right? It’s not just because she’s worried about you. Mostly,” he smiles weakly at him. “She’s just being selfish.”

 

Kyungsoo tries hard not to stare at him in bewilderment and fails. His mouth opens by a fraction, but no sound comes out. Behind him, the grasshoppers are skittering urgently around the old statue.

 

Jongin sighs. “Not going to Yokohama… that’s just me being selfish too. I value them more than anything, and if I leave them I’d be homesick. Minseok hyung, Yifan hyung, Sehun, Mom – and now there’s you. Especially you, hyung. I want you with me everywhere I go.”

 

 _I don’t think I could make myself go anywhere else anymore_ , Jongin adds in his head quite sadly.

“I didn’t know you could get homesick of people,” Kyungsoo mutters, turning away from him again. He scratches the back of his head and sighs. “Come on, let’s go. This place is depressing.”

 

Jongin lets out a small laugh. He jogs a bit to catch up to him, a couple of twigs cracking underneath his boots. He feels brave enough to take Kyungsoo’s wintry hand in his. “You really do have a poor vocabulary,” he smiles. “People can be home too, hyung.”

 

Kyungsoo only nods imperceptibly, and doesn’t talk the rest of the trek. Jongin can feel the tiny pulse beating calmly on his palm.

 

…

 

It’s January 2nd. On New Year’s Eve, the whole world is loud and obnoxious, except for Gumseo, where the island folk only light a few fireworks exactly at midnight. They are expensive to ship, and the people are only willing to lavish during the festivals, where there are tourists up and about. There’s also the threat of a forest fire, and the last one was not so long ago.

 

“We weren’t allowed to celebrate New Year’s, back in the military,” Minseok says to Jongin as they dump a new sack of mulberry leaves into storage. The silkworms will be feasting on them tomorrow. “Our company got punished when a kid refused to eat dried fish for dinner – I seriously wanted to deck that guy. I missed my one chance to see some real fireworks.”

 

Jongin thinks back on the time he poked his head out of the dormitory window and watched the fireworks from his bunk bed. “Oh, just the usual. Loud, violent, lots of pretty colors,” Jongin says, grinning slightly. “I wonder how they make those things.”

 

Minseok laughs. “I hope hyungnim doesn’t have any books on making explosives. You’ll end up burning this whole village down. Remember that time you experimented with Renshu’s cows?”

 

“Cow farts are a good source of energy and you know it,” Jongin shrugs. “The smellier, the better. Only the mayor doesn’t seem to agree.”

 

“Sometimes I forget you’re still a kid,” Minseok says, ruffling the top of his hair. It’s gotten pretty long; Jongin hasn’t been paying much attention to his appearance lately (and hygiene, if he’s being totally honest), with his mind wandering to other things. “That’s probably because there are a lot of things about you, Jongin.”

 

“A sissy must be one of them,” Sehun quips not too far from them, bathing under the scarce amount of light he can get from the winter sun. “I saw you hiding your Christmas present for Kyungsoo hyung under your sock drawer.

 

Jongin scowls, his neck flushing deeply. “I didn’t give it to him since Christmas wasn’t exactly a great day for hyung. You were there, weren’t you?”

 

“Oh,” Sehun stops, then smiles sheepishly. “Right. I forgot.”

 

“Isn’t his birthday on the twelfth?” Minseok reminds him. “Only about a week from now. You should give it to him then.”  

 

“Yeah. Maybe.”

 

Sehun hauls himself up from the mat and peers at them through his damp, dark brown hair. “What _are_ we going to do for your birthday, though? Don’t tell me we’re going to Olgwae again.”

 

“Why?” Jongin says defensively, looking at him like a kicked-puppy. Olgwae became tradition before he even knew it was one. “What’s wrong with the beach?”

 

“You always make us go there every single year.” Sehun groans loudly. “Roasting sweet potatoes was the thing when we were like seven, dude. Campfires grew out of fashion when the whole world decided to grow up.”

 

“Don’t come, then,” Jongin says with an impervious glare. “More s’mores and potatoes for me.”

 

Minseok arches a delicate eyebrow at him. “What Sehun means to say is that you should pick someplace new. Olgwae beach is going to stain black with all the memories you’ve been pouring on it. How about Kolju? With the thickets, it’s not as cold anymore this time of the year.”

 

Sehun gives Jongin a bland stare when he doesn’t reply. “Look at that stupid pout on his face,” he says. “He doesn’t like it one bit. What is with you and winter seas and campfires?”

 

“He’s just like Luhan. For some reason, he loved campfires by the shore too,” Minseok says with a wry grin before turning his attention back to the mulberry leaves. Sehun harrumphs in ascent. Jongin hates these kinds of conversations, when they start singling him out and being serious and all. He dislikes it even more than when he’s being teased.

 

He turns his face northward, just in time for him to see Kyungsoo coming out from the daechong in a white dress shirt, sleeves folded up to his elbows. His tie is tight around his neck, or it’s probably just an illusion from the way Kyungsoo’s face is contorted into a painful expression. “Jongin,” he says, but then stops when he sees the sacks of mulberry leaves. “Oh, sorry,” he retracts immediately. “Are you busy?”

 

Jongin stands straight and dusts the bristles and the small petioles away. “I can be un-busy,” he says, smiling. Sehun is staring evenly at the side of his face, and Jongin opts to ignore it.

 

“Sorry,” Kyungsoo says. He turns to Minseok and Sehun. “Can I borrow him for a while?”

 

“We don’t need him. He’s all yours,” Minseok says cheerfully, making Kyungsoo chuckle a little. He gestures for Jongin to follow him inside.

 

“Can you get cleaned up in, say, five minutes?” Kyungsoo asks as they walk back to Jongin’s room. The floorboards are squeaking again, and Kyungsoo mumbles something along the lines of having it fixed by the end of the month.

 

Jongin gives him a sidelong glance. Kyungsoo’s hair has been purposefully slicked back with gel, lots of it, and he fights back the urge to mess it up just to see how Kyungsoo will react. “Why? Are we having someone important coming over?”  

 

The corners of Kyungsoo’s lips dip slightly. “It’s today,” he says like it’s enough, and it is. It makes Jongin stop somewhere in his tracks before he digs the heels of his palms on his eyeballs rather painfully.

 

“I can’t believe I forgot something as important as this,” Jongin mumbles, opening the door to his room hastily. He picks out a clean button down from a small pile in his dresser and discards his work shirt over the bed. “What time will they arrive?”

 

Kyungsoo’s eyes are now transfixed on the dents on the ceiling. “Probably half an hour from now. Hurry the hell up,” he says, a weird blush forming on his nose and cheeks, and Jongin smirks through the cotton as he slips inside the holes of his shirt.

 

“I would’ve remembered if you weren’t doing such a good job keeping me preoccupied,” Jongin remarks coyly, unbuckling his belt. Kyungsoo’s gaze on the dents goes unnaturally intense at the noise. Jongin sees his jaw locking, and laughs. “I’ve been so distracted these past few weeks. Sehun is on to me.”

 

“I’m not the one who insisted on playing Tarzan all the time. Showing me all your nomadic conquests and all,” Kyungsoo says dryly. Jongin’s sure that Kyungsoo can taste the familiar hum of static between them, and it makes his insides churn not unpleasantly.

 

“They’re not conquests, hyung. They’re secrets,” he says, smiling. He changes into a fresh pair of jeans and steps into Kyungsoo’s line of vision. The older man goes immediately cross-eyed in surprise, and Jongin chuckles at the cute expression before leaning in, seizing Kyungsoo’s lower lip with his mouth. A hand flies to cup his cheek when Kyungsoo lets out a disgruntled moan.

 

“We should,” Kyungsoo says in between kisses, “get out,” another kiss, “now.”

 

“What’s stopping you?” Jongin asks all too innocently, his mouth moving down to Kyungsoo’s neck. He hisses at the smell of his cologne – it’s not too strong, but the musky scent lingering on his skin is enough to drive Jongin crazy. His lips tease the soft, sensitive spot near his earlobe before he lets his teeth graze along the crest. Kyungsoo shivers and mewls.

 

He taps Jongin frantically on the forearm. “You’re going to leave a mark,” he gasps, and his Adam’s apple bobs against Jongin’s lips delightfully. Jongin lets himself roam to a very dangerous path by slotting their crotches together while his mouth presses hungrily onto the slope of Kyungsoo’s throat.

 

“You were thinking about naughty things while I was getting changed, weren’t you?” Jongin asks, surprising himself at how deep and rough his voice sounds. “You’re lying if you say you didn’t see this one coming.”  

 

Kyungsoo’s thighs are so thick and soft against his own, and the growing strain under Jongin’s pants is too prominent to ignore, making him laugh. The hairs on Kyungsoo’s nape move a little at his breath.

 

Kyungsoo moves himself away experimentally, but it only causes an added friction that makes them groan in surprise. His eyes have grown pitch black, too undone now to fight anymore, and Jongin loves how nimble and calculated Kyungsoo’s short fingers are as they unbuckle the belt around Jongin’s waist.

 

“We’re going to be so fucking late.” Kyungsoo curses, and Jongin chuckles as he starts undoing the button on Kyungsoo’s trousers.

 

It only takes less then a second for Jongin to back Kyungsoo up against the wall, one hand gripping on Kyungsoo’s shoulder and the other around his dripping cock, pumping him furiously as Kyungsoo groans the longest string of profanities Jongin has ever heard him say. Jongin moves from teasing his balls to fisting his dick, increasing the pressure as he feels it twitch in his palm.

 

“There. Right there,” Kyungsoo pants, his face contorting in pleasure, and Jongin’s fingers move expertly to caress the slit dribbling with precum. Kyungsoo unconsciously rocks against his grip, his cock pulsing into a deep red.

 

“You’re so sensitive,” Jongin growls, and as he says it, Kyungsoo’s starts firmly gripping his dick. He glues their lips together again, licking the ceiling of his mouth. Jongin almost cries at how hard Kyungsoo is holding him, how fast he’s milking him - like a warped form of punishment - that he’s only seconds away from coming all over.

 

Unthinkingly, Jongin starts grinding and rocking his hips, wanting more and more of the friction Kyungsoo’s palm provides. He sucks noisily onto Kyungsoo’s neck, and spurts of white come out of Kyungsoo’s furious cock, slathering his palm. It doesn’t take much for Jongin to come too, and they both hold each other against the wall as their chests heave together, catching their breaths.

 

Kyungsoo sighs, but it doesn’t sound like anything but just wind escaping from his lips. “We have about less than ten minutes,” he says and lets out a long groan when he sees the time on Jongin’s wall clock. “I’m going to take another shower – I have to wash off all the sex on me, thanks to you.”

 

“You’re welcome.” Jongin grins. “How about we take that shower together? It’ll be quicker, I promise.”

 

The flushed and irritated look Kyungsoo gives him tells him he doesn’t agree in the slightest, but the door to Jongin’s personal bathroom is just one door away, and Jongin’s arm around Kyungsoo’s waist is insistent and strong for him to pull away.

 

…

 

Jongin fixes Kyungsoo’s shirt collar a bit higher to hide the blossoming red on the crook of his neck, and Kyungsoo scowls at him dutifully.

 

“I’m turning into such a moron the more time I spend with you,” he heatedly says under his breath. In front of the wide office table and with his hair gelled up, Kyungsoo is a big ball of nerves again. It’s both adorable and perplexing to Jongin. With all those months of sleepless nights and half-eaten dinners, it’s not like Kyungsoo is going to lose this fight.

 

“Why did you ask me to come, anyway, if I’m such a mental drag?” Jongin asks, pretending to look hurt.

 

Kyungsoo’s hand hovers over the papers inside a slick, black folder before thumbing the pages down. “You’re smarter than me. You might see something that I’d miss. And you’re better at dealing with people.”

 

Not entirely true. It had taken months before Jongin had found his voice and spoken with his seatmate back in grade school, and that was because the boy’s shoelaces were untied. “I’m practically useless then,” Jongin says, his lips curling up in distaste. “I’m not good at negotiating, and anyway you’ve got this all covered.”

 

“Just stay with me,” Kyungsoo says, and Jongin can’t quite understand the look on his face.

 

In a few minutes, the door creeps open. Yoorae stands by with her hand firm on the door, a bland smile set on a heart-shaped face. The tail end of her blouse is sticking out of her skirt.

 

Then, two pairs of Italian leather shoes step inside the room. Youngmin and Chanhyuk are carrying briefcases in their hands, and Renshu isn’t with them.

 

“Ahh. The prince and his escort,” Chanhyuk says with a smile. He bows to the both of them before he sits on the chair opposite to them. “I didn’t know he’d be joining us today.”

 

“His name is Jongin,” Kyungsoo says smoothly. “I’d prefer if you call him by that, if you don’t mind.”

 

Youngmin raises an eyebrow at this and gives Jongin a cursory glance, probably sensing something, but doesn’t comment.

 

Jongin whips his head to look at him, but only sees Kyungsoo’s blank expression.

 

“Back in business, I see,” Chanhyuk grins. “Although I’ll need a bit of conclusive evidence to close this matter, Do-ssi.”

 

Kyungsoo jerks his chin. “Everything you need to see is in those folders. Three copies each. If the court wants an affidavit I’ll gladly file for one.”

 

“We’ll see if you really need one.”

 

Jongin and Kyungsoo wait for them to finish reading all the new contracts and statement of accounts. Jongin watches as the skin around Chanhyuk’s mouth goes tighter as he flips through the charts and spreadsheet cells highlighted with a dusty yellow. Youngmin settles with drinking the tea Yoorae set out for them when he stops halfway through the files, his eyes glazing over the bookshelves and sometimes at Jongin.

 

Chanhyuk closes the black folder and sets it aside. He smiles thinly at them when he looks up. “And you’ve accomplished all of this under five months?” he questions, his tone almost disbelieving. “I have to say, Do Kyungsoo-ssi, I’m thoroughly impressed.”

 

“You’ve made us very desperate,” Kyungsoo says, adjusting his glasses.

 

Chanhyuk howls in laughter. “The Kang family of Buryeong-myeon has already given in,” he says. “Land conversion is inevitable, Do-ssi. It’s progress, and it’s inevitable.”

 

Kyungsoo shakes his head. His fingers graze the skin on Jongin’s wrist lightly before he lets go. “That’s not the way we see it, and there are other ways to achieve progress. This land in Daljong-myeon will never be HCC’s,” he says, and Jongin hears that sudden spike of confidence in his voice, something he’s never heard before from Kyungsoo. “I’ll make sure of it.”

 

Youngmin sighs and pats Chanhyuk on the shoulder before taking out a thick set of papers and a pen. At that moment, Jongin’s brain hears nothing – Youngmin starts talking gibberish: financial statements, vouchers, risks and mergers. His eyes roll back as Chanhyuk brandishes a folder of trade papers, but Kyungsoo seems to understand it all – in fact, Kyungsoo is in his element when he crosses out the things he doesn’t seem to agree with, colors the fine print with his trusty highlighter, and signs a couple of select documents.

 

Chanhyuk seems to sense Jongin’s discomfort and snickers at him. “You need to at least graduate college to be able to understand this, son.” He grins. “You don’t get to learn this while feeding the pigeons in this tiny town –”

 

“Jongin is smarter than any of the people in your company combined,” Kyungsoo interjects as he does a loop with his pen. He looks up from the papers with his eyebrow arched menacingly at Chanhyuk, the first sign of emotion he’s showed since they came.

 

Chanhyuk chuckles and mumbles a half-hearted apology, pleased to have somehow struck a nerve. Kyungsoo squeezes Jongin’s thigh in assurance.

 

Jongin tries to dislodge the boulder-sized ball in his throat. He’s been blatantly insulted too many times to afford taking offense, and he doesn’t understand why this particular one had hurt.

…

 

“I read about that myth you told me,” Jongin quips to him one night.

 

Kyungsoo snaps his gaze away from the ceiling and, even through the darkness, looks straight at him. “ _The Odyssey_?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Kyungsoo studies his face. “You don’t seem particularly pleased with it.”

 

Jongin rolls on his stomach and lays a lazy arm over Kyungsoo. “Odysseus killed all of his wife’s suitors and had a kid with Calypso.” He scrunches his nose in distaste. “Somehow, that doesn’t seem to be an ideal story to me after all.”

 

“Not all stories are perfect.” Kyungsoo chuckles tiredly. “Especially about heroes fighting against the odds. We were comparing the endings before, though. You said you liked it better.”

 

Jongin sighs. He doesn’t know why he feels anxious. He didn’t eat anything that would upset his stomach. “Yeah. I demand a rewrite, though.”

 

“Homer’s dead,” Kyungsoo mutters, and Jongin tries to hide a flinch from raking his body. This doesn’t go out of Kyungsoo’s notice, however, and he leans in, kissing him softly on his slightly chapped lips. “Stop thinking about warrior stories, Jongin.” He closes his eyes, and it takes a while for Jongin to do the same.

 

…

 

 

 

 

“There’s this new convenience store in Gapak,” Sehun says. A towel is wrapped around his neck, drenched with sweat. His sister asked him to move the loom to the shack, and he just got back from their house. “The only thing they sell new is that gum tape we first saw in a commercial two years ago when we were watching Barcelona versus Real Madrid.”

 

“Any good?” Jongin asks. They’re already at the spot where the paved roads start crisscrossing over one another, and Jongin stops to wave hello to a random village kid. Sehun snorts at this.

 

“They only have one flavor. Grape. A sour one,” Sehun responds belatedly. “What’s that thing you wanted to buy again?”

 

“Char Siew Ramen with extra spring onions,” Jongin says, grinning. “Minseok hyung wants a big bowl of it but I can’t make that stuff.”

 

“You can ask the cook or you can bat your eyelashes at Kyungsoo hyung to make it for you.”

 

Jongin laughs. “That kind of shit never works on him. Trust me, I’ve tried,” he says rather fondly. “Besides, Kyungsoo’s cranky and exhausted right now and he needs sleep. It took me five hours just to tie him to the bed post.”

 

Sehun scowls at him. “Jesus Christ, Jongin, don’t ever mention your weird sexscapades with Kyungsoo to me again. A guy has his own limits,” he says, and Jongin laughs again.

 

They’re at the marketplace, just in front of the noodle shop, when Sehun whispers, “So you really like Kyungsoo hyung? Like for real?”

 

“Yes, Sehun.” Jongin rolls his eyes, amused. “You can stop throwing me that mean curve ball anytime now.” He orders and sends a thousand-watt grin to the young storekeeper, making her blush like mad, and Sehun jabs an index finger on his rib. Jongin’s always been a terrible flirt, and though he personally finds it as more of sharing his cheerfulness with other people, Sehun seems to think otherwise.

 

Sehun crinkles his nose like a pug’s. “Is it weird that I don’t find it weird?”

 

“Don’t find what weird?”

 

“You and Kyungsoo hyung,” Sehun says. He gives Jongin a once-over, and then looks at him oddly. “It’s like I’ve known for a long time and I was just waiting for one of you to grab the other’s boner or something.” He crinkles his nose again. “Come on, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

 

“When are you going to have some culture in you?” Jongin teases as he grabs the paper bag and bolts. “And boners? Really, Sehun? Those yaoi manhwas are frying your brain.”

 

“ _Seven Days_ was cute, you miserable low-life. But really, Jongin. It’s good that you have Kyungsoo hyung now.” He sighs then. “Ahh, what is this? That shitty smell of wanton soup must be getting to me. I hate noodles.”

 

“Well, don’t stop now. I’m enjoying this.”

 

Sehun makes a face and shrugs. “Kyungsoo hyung is healthy for you. He likes you enough to put up with all the shit you like doing, but he’s smart enough to stop you when you go over the top. And he sees right through you when you try to cover yourself up by being all cute and happy and stuff.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “And his weirdness balances yours out, so it’s all good.”

 

Jongin’s face flames despite himself. He coughs out a breath or two. “I should tell him you said that. He’d break your nose.”

 

“Get real, Jongin. Kyungsoo hyung likes me too,” Sehun retorts, grinning.

 

Jongin’s gaze at the road ahead doesn’t stray for once. “I think I’m really into him, Sehun,” he says, keeping his voice light. He tries to loosen his grip on the paper bag. “I’m really, really into him.”

 

Sehun sighs. “Yeah, I know. We’ve all known for a long time.” Jongin looks at him with a frown, and he continues, “I thought there was something different with the way you acted towards Kyungsoo hyung when we all went out for drinks to Kkobang, but you have this tendency to hover and act possessive towards people. It’s one of your most exhausting traits.

 

“But that night when Minseok hyung puked all over the rocks after the drinking game and you rushed to the forest without thinking, I knew there was something up,” Sehun says. “Yifan hyung asked me to check up on you, and when I did you were back in your room. You were sleeping, and you had someone in your arms. It was Kyungsoo hyung.”

 

Massaging his neck, Jongin laughs almost cautiously. “I was being too obvious, wasn’t I?”

 

“Maybe a little,” Sehun agrees. “But what seems to be the problem? He’s your boyfriend now, remember?”

 

Jongin wants to point out that he’s not exactly sure if Kyungsoo has ever thought of their relationship as something like that. They’ve never really said the words out loud, and it makes him even more upset.

 

“I’m terrified that he’s going to get tired of me soon,” Jongin confesses, and he doesn’t know what exactly has prompted him to say it, but he goes on anyway. “It happened with Seulgi, and it didn’t even last more than two days with Taemin.” Jongin’s track record in relationships is far from stellar – what if Kyungsoo finally sees something he doesn’t like, and what if he finally decides one day that Jongin really isn’t special enough for him to keep? “And I’m afraid that it’s going to hurt really bad since I like him too much.”

 

Sehun snorts. “You’re so fucking cheesy, Jongin, and of course’s it’s going to hurt, stupid. But we’re talking about Kyungsoo hyung here. He’s your best friend even if you don’t remember much of your childhood with him at all. You’ve gotten him into a whole lot of trouble and his mom is still royally pissed at you, but here he is in this godforsaken town, sucking faces with you and laughing at all your jokes even if he doesn’t understand a goddamn thing you’re saying.”

 

The younger glowers at him. “I overheard him talking to Minseok hyung and Renshu last night. About you. And college.”

 

Jongin’s jaw drops. “What?”

 

“He likes you more than anyone in this world, fuckhead, and he’s the one who wants you to be happy the most,” Sehun says. “You should listen to him.”

 

 Jongin holds up the bag to his face. He swallows. “I hate you, Oh Sehun.”

 

“Well I hate you more,” Sehun declares flippantly. “This conversation with you alone is going make me fill up more than half of my swear jar.”

 

“I didn’t ask for you to get your point across by swearing like a goat,” Jongin fires back, and Sehun, for the umpteenth time, emphatically rolls his eyes at him.

 

After a while, the corner of Sehun’s mouth lifts, if only a little. “Get married.”

 

…

 

It takes a while for Jongin to open his eyes.

 

The lamplight is bright and blinding. Jongin stretches into a yawn and jerks himself up, scratching the growing stubble under his chin. The page lines have embedded on the side of his cheek where his face landed when he unwittingly fell asleep.

 

He’s barely gotten past the accounting book he sneaked out from Minhyuk’s study. He’s amazed that there are a lot of words that can refer to money, and he’s underlined a couple of lines he thinks are useful, like equities and buying shares and auditing. Some of the words were familiar to him when he read them, probably terms that he’d heard Kyungsoo utter in passing, like trading and wholesale and retailers.  

 

Jongin wonders how people from the business department in Hanyang took all these.

 

He’s about to stand when he notices the warm blanket slung around him is starting to slide off at the movement. Jongin doesn’t remember taking it from his bed and wrapping it around himself.

 

His empty mug of cocoa is nowhere to be found, and Jongin is sure now. He runs a hand through his hair and laughs quietly.

 

…

 

“Get up,” he orders.

 

Jongin makes the mistake of poking his head out of the covers, and gets slapped not too lightly by a pillow. He groans out loud, his hair tousled and his skin sweaty from sleep. He grabs Kyungsoo’s wrist just in time before the older aims another mean swing at the side of his face.

 

“Why are you so grumpy this early in the morning?” Jongin whines. “Snuggle with me, hyung.”

 

Kyungsoo looks at him in mild disgust. “Shut up. We’re going on a trip. We talked about this, remember?”

 

Jongin flips himself over until he’s back under the covers again. “Where are we…” he sighs. “Going?”

 

“Around the island,” Kyungsoo says. “It’s my birthday today.”

 

Jongin’s eyes jerk open. He kicks his blankets off his thighs and feet, and stares openly at Kyungsoo. His hair is wet and rests softly on his forehead, slightly covering the tips of his ears, and his eyes are dark and intense as he looks at Jongin. “Get dressed,” Kyungsoo tells him.

 

“It’s the twelfth already?”

 

“Last time I checked.” To his surprise, one end of Kyungsoo’s lips pull up to form a smirk.

 

Jongin cautiously gathers the blankets over him when he finally sees Kyungsoo staring at his shirtless torso. His cheeks heat up, feeling rather self-conscious – it’s not like this is the first time Kyungsoo has seen his bare, sweaty belly stretched out like this.

 

“You look like you’re going to eat me,” Jongin says in a small voice, pointing his index finger at Kyungsoo’s predatory stare.

 

“Oh, I will,” Kyungsoo says with a wicked smile. “But maybe later when you’ve brushed your teeth. Come on. Get dressed, you big baby.”

 

This time, Jongin obliges and pulls himself together. He takes a long, easy shower just to spite Kyungsoo (and maybe to unwind a little) and tries styling his hair into a clean up-do before giving up and jamming it all inside with a snapback he got from Yifan for Christmas.

 

Speaking of Christmas, Kyungsoo’s gift is still stuck inside his sock drawer. Jongin argues with himself for a full five minutes before taking it out and jamming it inside his coat pocket.

 

Kyungsoo is waiting for him at the daechong, hands folded across his chest and looking a bit wayward at the bright January sky. It’s not the kind of expression a regular person would wear on his twenty-sixth birthday, but Jongin understands that Kyungsoo just looks like that when he’s thinking hard.

 

Jongin presses his lips onto Kyungsoo’s sideburn as a greeting. “Ready for next three days, hyung?”

 

“If I didn’t know any better, I would say that you’re asking me to stay in,” Kyungsoo says starchily, and Jongin chuckles.

 

“You’d be stuck with me, anyways. I’m happy with both of my options.”

 

They start off with their sleeping bags pressed securely onto their backpacks, along with their supplies and big jugs of water. The garden spurges have started to mat the boundaries of the paths again, and the rain from last week has taken away the slippery sludge of snow covering the edges of the paddies. Jongin starts teasing Kyungsoo, who’s already red in the face way before they even passed the half-mile mark.

 

“I’ve always wanted to do this. Backpacking,” Kyungsoo says as he looks over the threshold. His eyes are bright as his lips are inviting, and Jongin wants nothing more than to kiss him senseless, but he holds himself back, not wanting to interrupt him. “I read about it once in a magazine and thought it would be nice to try it, though I never had a chance because of work keeping me busy.” He bites his lip and looks at Jongin. “And I thought if I somehow miraculously found the time, I would go on my own but…”

 

“There’s me,” Jongin finishes for him.

 

“Yeah. There’s you.” And Kyungsoo smiles.

 

They take the roundabout way to Manchul-myeon. Jongin makes them trek a bit longer to avoid the cliffside that’s particularly dangerous during the offset of winter and leads his companion to the open space where the reeds are starting to sprout again. The wind is not particularly chilly today, but they get a couple of gusts every now and then as they walk, and Jongin can feel the skin on his nose starting to peel off. He must have applied too little moisturizer on his face for today.

 

They pass by a herd of goats. Jongin flashes a peace sign as Kyungsoo takes a picture of him with them. It takes a bit of tutoring for Jongin to operate Kyungsoo’s expensive and rather complicated DSLR before snapping a photo of Kyungsoo with the herd and the grazing field.

 

“Manchul-myeon is more of a farming town,” Jongin tells him. He points to some of the barns overhead that are more than a hundred years old.

 

“Like the Amita Bul?”

 

“Your memory’s getting better,” a loud slap on Kyungsoo’s shoulder, and Jongin laughs as he pulls back the hair that covers his face. “Yes, like the Amita Bul, but probably a decade younger. They’re just as old as the Do manor, actually.”

 

Kyungsoo hums in understanding. They follow the road again.

 

The trees are starting to crowd again in this area. Jongin wants Kyungsoo to see Manchul’s wide fields, where the coral lilies start to bloom during the first week of the year. There’s a billowing rock at the center, a steadfast, and Jongin remembers how Minseok and Luhan had always raced each other and taken bets on who would climb the top first. Jongin played the referee, and Luhan had always won. Sometimes, he thinks that Minseok lost on purpose. Luhan really had one of the brightest smiles Jongin had ever seen.

 

They both walk in comfortable silence, lost in the whirlwind of their own thoughts, until Kyungsoo speaks up. “Tell me about your parents,” he says suddenly.

 

Jongin blinks at him. “Is this one of those days where you make me do all the talking for you?” He presses his two fingers on the dark circles under Kyungsoo’s eyes before slipping down to the slight curvature of his upper lip. Jongin hadn’t noticed how tired Kyungsoo looked until now. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

 

“Maybe,” Kyungsoo mumbles, and Jongin frowns at this.

 

He twirls his fingers around Kyungsoo’s playfully. “Were you fretting about your age last night? You know, twenty-six is still young, hyung. And maybe you’d look even younger if you stop scowling at people every chance you get.”

 

Kyungsoo sighs, his grip tightening on Jongin’s hand. “You’re doing it again.”

 

“Doing what?”

 

“Distracting me,” he accuses. “Avoiding my question.”

 

Jongin chuckles stiffly. “It was more of a demand than an actual question, hyung, really.”

 

“These three days are going to be about you, Jongin,” Kyungsoo says with an odd air of defiance. “So you’d better start telling me the things that I want to know now.”

 

“You didn’t say anything about that before. And there’s nothing good for you to know, seriously,” Jongin pipes, his sleepy smile disappearing in an instant. 

 

Kyungsoo levels his eyes with him. Jongin thinks he would be used to it by now, being subjected under Kyungsoo’s piercing stare, under Kyungsoo’s spell. But he still isn’t. “Then tell me about the bad stuff,” he says, and Jongin has to strain his ear to catch his words. “I told you I would be eating you up today.” He reaches up to cup Jongin’s chin before he seals their lips together.

 

Jongin is practically breathless when they break away. His chest is heaving, and not just from the hike.

 

“Now, you were telling me something about your parents?” Kyungsoo is smiling now, his lips swollen and red and sticky, and Jongin leans in to kiss him again.

 

Jongin licks his lips when they finish, tasting Kyungsoo in his mouth before running a hand through his hair. He sighs. “I don’t really remember them,” Jongin says. But he thinks he remembers something, probably a dark mop of hair hanging from a crib and a ghost of a smile. It’s a mystery of the mind Jongin isn’t particularly anxious to solve, not that he’s given himself much time to actually stop and think about it. He tells Kyungsoo that, and is rewarded with wide, bright eyes and a distinct hum of approval.

 

“Tell me about your high school life, then. All the bits and pieces I’ve missed,” Kyungsoo says. He sets his eyeglasses evenly on his nose. “Tell me about those things you wanted to do when you were a kid.”

 

They’re holding hands now, walking around town with their shoulders bumping against one another once in a while. An old woman who is sprinkling salt all over her front porch stops to look, nodding contemplatively at them as they pass.

 

The way Kyungsoo is not quite looking at him makes it easier for Jongin to sort out his thoughts. He knows Kyungsoo’s hanging on to Jongin’s every word by the way his mouth tilts when he finds something amusing, or when the muscles in his jaw strain when Jongin tells him about the time he got into a fight with a local bully in school.

 

They stop under an old birch three after they’ve passed the fields. They sit on a dry patch of grass, and Kyungsoo leans onto Jongin’s shoulder as Jongin talks and talks like he’s never talked before. He tells him about the time he read about the toilets in Japan at age sixteen and told himself that he wanted to make one since it’s the closest thing he could ever get to being an astronaut, with all the buttons and the peculiar functions fit for a garden sprinkler. Kyungsoo laughs merrily at that, and when it dies down his attention is on Jongin again, and Jongin can’t get over how addicting it is, how addicting it feels to have someone pressed against him, listening to him talk and rant about stuff he thinks people will find boring and unamusing.

 

Jongin opens his mouth again and tells Kyungsoo everything.

 

…

 

It’s almost dark when they arrive at the peripheries of Buryeong. Jongin haggles with the innkeeper and gets a room for the two of them, even when they’re fully booked for tonight. He finds Kyungsoo crouched near the fireplace, holding out his small hands to keep them warm. Kyungsoo’s gift suddenly feels heavy in his coat pocket.

 

Jongin lightly taps him on the shoulder. “I got one room for the two of us. The bed is pipsqueak small, though.”

 

“We can manage. Worst case scenario is somebody will be sleeping on the floor.”

 

“Why am I having the feeling that that person is me?” And Kyungsoo laughs heartily at this, showing all of his teeth.

 

The stairs creak much louder than the floorboards back in the old manor and the closet reeks of naphthalene balls, but Kyungsoo doesn’t seem to mind. He washes up, discards his pants, and flops immediately on the surprisingly soft mattress, much to Jongin’s amusement.

 

“I wonder if Dad’s ancient printer will be able to handle printing out all the pictures I’ve taken,” Kyungsoo muses out loud.

 

Jongin takes off his shirt and slides right next to him. The innkeeper was right about the bed being ridiculously tiny, but Kyungsoo is warm and soft and he smells so nice that Jongin is grateful for any excuse to have Kyungsoo’s back against his chest.

 

Jongin inhales, and Kyungsoo cranes his neck with much difficulty so he can throw a befuddled stare. “Did you just sniff my hair?”

 

“Maybe,” Jongin answers coyly, and when Kyungsoo twists his nipple, he yells out loud. “Ouch! Fuck, Kyungsoo hyung, that hurt!”

 

“Wear your shirt next time,” Kyungsoo reprimands him without much heat, and Jongin retaliates by putting his hands on both of Kyungsoo’s thighs, straddling him until his legs are wrapped around Jongin’s waist. The awkward squeak and blush on his face is just as rewarding as having Kyungsoo’s crotch rubbing up at the planes of his bare stomach.

 

“Wear your pants next time,” Jongin says with an unmistakable glint in his eye, and Kyungsoo gulps at the rough edge of his voice before Jongin slams his lips fiercely onto Kyungsoo’s, drowning out a pleasured whimper as all his blood runs south.

 

Kyungsoo’s nails scrape his back insistently as his fingers venture for more of his skin to touch. Jongin tugs on the soft hairs at the back of Kyungsoo’s head, making the other groan. He licks a stripe of skin below his Adam’s apple, and Kyungsoo’s hips starts bucking towards his crotch, begging for more friction, his creamy thighs heating up Jongin’s sides.

 

Kyungsoo’s eyes have gone wild and his hair is in a fit of disarray, and he starts tugging on the waistband of Jongin’s underwear purposefully. Jongin moans at the intense heat pooling under his jeans. “You’re really out to mess me up, hyung,” he lets out in between breaths, unbuckling his belt quickly.

 

The pants lay forgotten on the floor as Jongin’s hand flies to touch Kyungsoo, cupping his hardening cock and passing a finger over the slit through his underwear. Kyungsoo grunts as he closes his eyes tight, his face contorting with his mouth open wide.

 

“Am I going to fast?” Jongin says frantically in between kisses, and Kyungsoo practically growls at him.

 

“Shut up and just touch me,” Kyungsoo says as he cups Jongin’s ass and rips his underwear down. Jongin’s dick springs free from the restraining clothing, up and hard and dripping for him.

 

Jongin does the same and goes down, trailing his nose down to the strong, musky scent of Kyungsoo, tracing the line of hair with his fingers. Jongin inhales at the pungent smell in between Kyungsoo’s thighs, and his vision whitens with lust as Kyungsoo bucks his hips again and again on Jongin’s skin.

 

“Do you – do you have it?” Kyungsoo gasps with a half-crazed look on his face. Jongin’s chest explodes at the thought of Kyungsoo wanting him as much as Jongin fucking does, and he finds it hard to breathe. 

 

Jongin nods when he finds himself again and leaps out of the bed, hissing as the cold air hits him. He rummages inside his bag and unpacks a bottle of lubricant. He runs back to Kyungsoo and locks their lips once again, coating a good amount of the viscous liquid onto his palm and his dick.

 

“This is really going to hurt, hyung,” Jongin pants, and he can’t keep the worry from his voice, thick and terribly unromantic, but Kyungsoo wriggles underneath him so they can look at each other face to face. His black irises are heavy and swimming with something Jongin can’t name as his labored breaths slam onto his tingling lips, and Kyungsoo leads him to his opening as he melds their mouths again.

 

Jongin teases him a bit, curling a lubed finger at the rim of the aching hole, and Kyungsoo groans in annoyance, his lips stretching to form an ‘o’, wide and pink and pretty. He pulls on Jongin’s hair almost painfully until Jongin gives in and slides the digit in, making Kyungsoo yelp at the sudden penetration.

 

Jongin makes sure he’s stretched him enough before he slides another one, slender fingers digging in search for that spot. It’s not until he slides his ring finger that he gets to hear Kyungsoo moaning the loudest he’s ever heard him, and he hits it again and again as his own thighs burn with want.

 

Kyungsoo stretches over and fists a hand around Jongin’s unattended cock, pumping it faster than Jongin has ever done when he’s getting himself off. He licks his lips. “I need you in, Jongin,” he whispers as he gasps. “You can take me now.”

 

“Okay,” Jongin says, keeping his eyes locked onto Kyungsoo’s. It’s the first time he’s ever had this instinct to be attentive and careful and sweet. He feels dumbstruck as he peppers Kyungsoo’s cool chest with kisses. There’s this powerful, desperate need to make it good for Kyungsoo, to make sure that Kyungsoo knows that he’s everything to him, and that he wants to be with him as long as possible.

 

Jongin angles himself right before he sinks in. The heated whimper Kyungsoo makes rivals Jongin’s flushed and drawn-out ‘argh’s and ‘ump’s – the second thrust comes in slow, as does the third until Jongin sets out a steady pace. He feels his cock twitching inside, taking in the tightness of the muscles of Kyungsoo’s hole.

 

Kyungsoo cringes, and Jongin can sense his arm muscles coiling as they go. “H-hyung, are you –”

 

“Faster, Jongin.” Kyungsoo’s face grimaces as they connect again, their pace agonizingly slow. “Don’t hold out on me.”

 

Jongin nods and flips Kyungsoo over until his ass is almost hovering in the air. When Jongin finally hits his prostate, a lewd groan escapes from Kyungsoo’s lips, his back arching upward. Unknowingly, his grip on Kyungsoo’s hips tighten, leaving a starting bruise. He rams the hilt of his dick harder than he’s ever done, and they both share an obscene gasp.

 

“Ugh, fuck, hyung. Are you sure this is your first time?” Jongin glowers at the ceiling. He rolls his hips down and presses onto a new angle, searching. “You’re so tight. It feels so…” He groans again when he sees Kyungsoo starting to rub on the head of his own cock. “It feels so good.”

 

“Then don’t stop,” Kyungsoo rasps and he jerks forward, creating the perfect friction.

 

“Kiss me,” he says with a slight tremor in his voice, and Jongin obliges as he draws out Kyungsoo’s breath with his mouth. Jongin startles himself as his body starts moving on its own accord, the bed creaking hard he ruts into Kyungsoo with a sickening slap of skin. Kyungsoo’s moans get frantic as the pace goes faster and faster, and the liquid pools in Jongin’s center and it drips down, down, down until it –

 

“Kyungsoo,” Jongin says, strangled with the pleasure mounting inside him. His eyes glaze over Kyungsoo’s mouth, his lips swollen and salty, and fuck, he’s going to come inside of him if he doesn’t –

 

Jongin was about to pull out when Kyungsoo inched his hole backwards. The sudden action makes his dick hit Kyungsoo’s prostate again, and it’s enough for the both of them to reach their peak.

 

White hot liquid spurts all over Kyungsoo’s pale stomach just as Jongin comes inside of him, and a string of drool falls out of Jongin’s lips as his mouth opens wide to let out a guttural groan, but no sound comes out. 

 

Kyungsoo kisses him, a bit softer now, and Jongin’s lips are pliant, parting as soon as Kyungsoo’s tongue licks at the bottom end. Jongin’s knees turn to jelly and he collapses on top of him, his dick slipping out of the ass hole as he leaves a trail of wet, sloppy hickies on the swell of Kyungsoo’s throat.

 

Jongin holds onto his wrist, and Kyungsoo laughs softly, his breath hitting Jongin’s forehead pleasantly. The younger musters the remaining energy he has left and looks at him.

 

“Strangely, I feel like this is my birthday,” Jongin pouts, and Kyungsoo chuckles at him again.

 

“It depends on whose point of view,” Kyungsoo says, giving him a sleepy, cheerful grin. “You’ve given me everything I wanted today. Stop selling yourself so short, Kim Jongin.” He rests his chin on Jongin’s clavicle, and the scent of Kyungsoo’s hair reeking of sweat, sex, and coconut makes Jongin’s head spin. Kyungsoo sighs on his skin and closes his eyes.

 

“Hey,” Jongin croaks after a while. “Hyung, is there something you want to tell me…?”

 

Kyungsoo answers with nothing but the faint sound of his breathing coming out of his nose. Instead of soothing him like it used to, it holds Jongin awake for the rest of the night.

 

…

 

The view of the lighthouse from where Kyungsoo and Jongin are sitting on the cliffside is beautiful. The clouds have been stretched thinly like paint, and the sun shines down on them benevolently, making the sea and the leaves on the trees glitter, and gives the illusion of the lighthouse standing tall and bright.

 

They just crossed Gapak-myeon and are now taking a break. A bag of freshly ground coffee beans sits on top of Kyungsoo’s crossed legs.

 

Kyungsoo’s gaze falls on the shoreline below them. “Tell me why you dropped out of college.”

 

Jongin stills on his spot, silent for a moment, before he lets his fingers trail the ends of the grass. They’re all green and healthy, new. “Japan is too far away.”

 

“Is that it?” Kyungsoo asks, both eyebrows raised. “Somehow, that doesn’t seem to be it.”

 

“Hyuuuunnnggggg ~”

 

Kyungsoo stares at him blandly, and Jongin exhales. Unlike normal people, Kyungsoo seems to be impervious to his aegyo. It shouldn’t be a surprise anymore. Sometimes Jongin swears that he’s not really dating a human.

 

“You weren’t wrong,” Jongin whispers. “I want to go out and explore things. I love Seoul. I love Japan, even if I’ve actually never been there.” He rests his chin on his knees, looking at nowhere in particular. “But I think I love Daljong-myeon more.”

 

They’re silent for a while, and when Jongin cranes his neck to the side, he sees Kyungsoo staring at him, his eyes growing soft. Kyungsoo rarely looks at him like that, and it makes Jongin a bit shyer and braver at the same time.

 

“Japan isn’t that far if you think about it,” Kyungsoo says. It might only be Jongin’s imagination, but he thinks he hears Kyungsoo’s voice crack in the middle. “The world is so small now, thanks to trains and airplanes. Just think about it like this, us walking around Gumseo’s towns.” He smiles faintly. “Japan is just like an easy cross from Manchul to Gapak.”

 

Jongin shakes his head. “Back then, crossing over wasn’t easy.” He motions for the older man to sit in front of him so he can rest his chin on Kyungsoo’s tamed hair, and the elder obliges. Jongins fingers curl on the waistband on Kyungsoo’s jeans. “I did great in school. Getting good grades has always been easy to me since I like studying. But high school was really different from Hanyang.” He sighs.

 

Kyungsoo doesn’t ask him any questions like last time and patiently waits. Jongin can feel himself unfurling. “Gumseo-do isn’t a place with a future. You want to stay here because everything is constant; you want it because, after all those years of having everything slip between your fingers, nothing will ever change.”

 

“And that’s nothing like you, Jongin,” Kyungsoo says sagely. “That’s me, but it’s not you at all.”

 

Jongin squeezes his hand. “That’s what I thought too,” he replies. “But maybe I was wrong, hyung. Maybe we’re really the same. Maybe I’m just like you.”

 

“What are you saying?”

 

Jongin smiles at him. “I was lonely,” he says. And Jongin thinks, in surprise, that it’s the first time he’s said it out loud. “I was lonely, hyung. I was lonely the whole time.”

 

Kyungsoo blinks. “Everybody likes you,” he tells him, mumbling, and Jongin chuckles as he runs a thumb across his cheek.

 

“Maybe out here,” Jongin laughs. “But out there – nah. I loved learning so much and was so obnoxiously passionate about everything that the other kids scoffed at me like they would at their professors. I was popular, though. A lot of girls liked me for my looks; got confessed to a lot. Too bad I liked their boyfriend’s dicks more than I wanted to get into their pants – not that I ever had sex with them though,” he says, laughing again at Kyungsoo’s put out expression. “After getting rochambeaud by you last night, I don’t want to get laid with anyone else. Like ever.”

 

“You’re changing the subject again,” Kyungsoo points out. “We’re making progress, Jongin. Speak your mind.”

 

Jongin chuckles as he successfully lands a sloppy kiss on Kyungsoo’s forehead. He complies. “Well, I was alone most of the time. You know how bad it gets, right?” He shrugs. “Hearing voices is bad enough. Don’t you think about how hard it is to keep the people you love close to you?”

 

Kyungsoo nods. “Every time,” he confesses.

 

“There was a roommate of mine who complained about my choice of music,” Jongin says, remembering. “I rarely went out to parties back in college, and he was a frat member and tried taking me out of the dorm until he stopped half-way of our first year and gave up. He once told me, ‘You know, I think you’re deliberately making yourself even lonelier and depressed by listening to sad songs all the time.’”

 

“What did you say?”

 

“Nothing. I always said nothing when people told me that,” he says, and chuckles. “I didn’t want to tell them that listening to sad songs made me happier. It helped to hear someone singing about how lonely they were, probably lonelier than I was. Two miseries made it better for me. That’s how fucked up I was, back in college, and I didn’t want people to know.”

 

Kyungsoo bobs his head. “And you left.”

 

“And I left,” Jongin agrees. “I thought about your dad and Minseok hyung and Yifan hyung working overtime for the festival. I thought about Sehun having the time of his life without me – I couldn’t let that happen.”

 

“You missed them.”

 

“Yeah,” Jongin swallows hard. “I missed them.”

 

Kyungsoo looks ahead then. “But you’re not happy now,” he whispers. “Not completely.”

 

“Maybe,” Jongin says, and then laughs. “No use dwelling on past things, though. Like I’ve said, Daljong-myeon isn’t the perfect place, but it’s the only place for me, really. And I have you now. That makes all the difference, really.” Jongin grins at him wide, but Kyungsoo doesn’t smile back.

 

Jongin sighs. “I tried really hard breaking away, you know? Told myself there were infinite possibilities in the city. But – I tried sending letters every time. Really long letters. Happy ones. Hyungnim used to roll his eyes at anything that ran on electricity, and Minseok hyung can’t work out text messaging for the life of him so that’s how it went. But postal service here in Korea is a bitch. Almost everybody relies on e-mail now, anyway, so I guess that’s that. Or maybe it really just took too long for the others to reply. I’m not sure. I never asked.”

 

Kyungsoo leans his head on Jongin’s shoulder. A sparrow lands on a nearby tree branch and tilts its head as it looks at them. “The latter would probably be the case for me,” Kyungsoo confesses. “I wouldn’t know what to say.”

 

Jongin laughs even if his throat feels desert-dry. “Yeah. I convinced myself that that was the case for them too.”

 

“Jongin…”

 

“I know.” Jongin blinks back the prickling in his eyes. It hurts. “We’re so different, but we’re really the same in some ways. I don’t want to leave people, because I’m afraid that they’d leave me too.”

 

Kyungsoo takes his hand with shaking fingers and turns to him. “I’m not leaving you, Jongin. No one is.”

 

“Well, I wasn’t sure about that before. I’m still not sure about that now. But anyway. That’s my answer, hyung,” Jongin says, smiling again. He breathes in and starts picking up the pieces. “That’s why I packed all my things on the last week of junior year in college and went back to Gumseo. That’s why I turned down the offer to go to graduate school in Japan. Yokohama is me leaving people and having people leave me. Cause and effect. Push and pull. That’s really how boring my reason is, hyung.” He laughs.

 

Kyungsoo takes him by surprise by shifting their positions. He sits face to face with Jongin, his knees between Jongin’s wide-open thighs. He puts a hand on Jongin’s shoulders before he trails it down on the planes of Jongin’s chest.

 

Kyungsoo kisses him harshly, heavily, his hand fisting at Jongin’s t-shirt. It only takes a short time before Jongin responds and deepens the kiss, threading his fingers through Kyungsoo’s hair.

 

When they stop, Jongin makes use of the moment to inhale. Kyungsoo licks his red, spit-coated lips before winding a hand around Jongin’s flushed neck.

 

He inhales. “I realized I had feelings for you when we were on the rooftop back in Hamija. Feelings that were not the friendly kind,” Kyungsoo says slowly. He gauges Jongin’s reaction, and continues, “You were touching me and holding me close even after I told you what I was, and it was just _too_ much, Jongin – I couldn’t ignore what I wanted anymore. You were always around me as soon as I came back from the city, and I already knew about that freak childhood accident we’d had for months. I thought it was no big deal since we were best friends before. I thought it was just me relearning you…the way you smiled at me was familiar, but the way my heart was reacting wasn’t.”

 

Jongin bites his lower lip. “Hyung, what are you trying to say?”

 

“I fought damn hard trying to stop liking you that way,” Kyungsoo says, and his voice is trembling as hard as Jongin’s breathing. “I tried fighting it – fight you – because you’re my friend and I was troubled, and I didn’t want our relationship to get confusing. But then I got exhausted.” He lets out a shaky grin. “Fighting. Kicking at the water as hard as I could. So I just let the tides carry me. Let the waves sail me back to shore, where home is.”

 

Kyungsoo pauses and mutters, “When December came, you took me around the Silk Festival. You held my hand in Dai. You kissed me under a tree.”

 

Jongin’s whole body starts to shake again when a gust of cold wind comes, and Kyungsoo steadies it with a hard grip on his upper arms. He levels his gaze on Jongin’s and doesn’t let go.

 

“I remember you telling me that a person can be a home,” Kyungsoo says. “You’re right. It’s you, Jongin. You’re my home. You’re _that_ important to me.” His eyes are glistening, and Jongin can see his own reflection, his surprised expression at Kyungsoo’s words.

 

“Listen to me. The voices – they are a part of me now, and these past months you’ve taught me how to live with them. My mind will never be right, but you’ve cured my heart, Jongin, do you understand? It’s yours, and you’ll have it with you forever. It doesn’t have to be Daljong-myeon, or Seoul, or Japan. Wherever you go, as long as you’re there, as long as you still think of me, I’m safe. My heart is safe. You will never stop being my home, Kim Jongin. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”

 

Jongin doesn’t know what to say to that – how can he? – so he just nods. “Okay.”

 

Kyungsoo’s lips form a thin line as he watches him closely. He sighs in satisfaction. “Okay,” he repeats. “Good. Great. I’m not really telling you to go. It’s your decision, but I just want you to know that.”

 

“What? That you’re not going to miss me if I leave?”

 

Kyungsoo slaps his thigh hard enough to make Jongin wince. “I’m saying that if you ever want to go back to the city and finish where you left off, you don’t have to worry about me,” he says. “I’ll be supporting you the whole way.”

 

Jongin chews on his lip unsurely. “I’m not going anywhere, Kyungsoo. The fact that you’re here right now is –“

 

“Don’t make this about me,” Kyungsoo says. “Please don’t make this about me.”

 

 _Don’t make this harder for me_ is what Jongin hears, but what he answers instead is, “… Okay.”

 

“I’ll probably miss you enough to want you to text me one of your shitty jokes but,” Kyungsoo shrugs. “I want you more to be happy than I want you to stay here with me in the island. You know. If you really want to go.”

 

Jongin beams at him and tickles his side. “Why are you so cheesy today, hyung?” he jokes in an effort to stay light. “May I remind you that my birthday is still tomorrow?”

 

Kyungsoo huffs as the tips of his ears go pink. He replies sourly, “I’ll make you suffer tomorrow as an exchange for the early birthday present.”

 

Jongin laughs and bumps his nose with his. “I can’t wait.” He grins.

 

…

 

The night of January 14th is especially cold. Jongin makes a campfire for the both of them in front of Olgwae beach. The marshmallows are strung in fours, and Kyungsoo smirks when Jongin complains about how well-roasted Kyungsoo’s s’mores are.

 

“You’re acting like we haven’t done this before,” Kyungsoo says. “When we were kids, you used to blow three packs before you managed to make something decent.”

 

Jongin flushes darkly. “I don’t remember…” It’s still hard for him to remember anything past the incident. Jongin had asked Yoorae about them, but he quickly felt embarrassed and silly about it, thinking that memories about Kyungsoo were far too intimate to discuss with someone who wasn’t…well, Kyungsoo. “It’s no fair. You have the other half of my memories.”

 

Kyungsoo’s face scrunches back. Jongin thinks Kyungsoo looks so cute that he mushes his own horrible s’mores to Kyungsoo’s mouth.

 

He glares at him before licking the stuffing off of the side of his lips. “It’s not like I can remember everything. Just bits and pieces. Probably the important ones.”

 

“Huh. So hanging out with me in Olgwae and poking fun on my inability to make edible marshmallows is important?” Jongin’s eyebrows quirk. “Do tell me more, hyung.”

 

It’s dark, but Jongin sees the tinge of red spreading on Kyungsoo’s nose. “There was one time… I think I remember now how we became friends. You complained about how stuck-up I was,” he says, quite shyly. He hides his face from Jongin to fight back a smile. “You dragged me out of my room and demanded that I play with you because no one else would.”

 

“Sounds familiar.” Jongin laughs. “I seem to have carried on the tradition even as we got older.” And… ah, he remembers now. How dire the situation was to him, back when he was five, to have someone to play with that wasn’t Minseok. He was so used to the rowdy orphanage and to always having kids around his age to play with, even if they didn’t seem to understand him and his love for strange adventures. “You didn’t speak when our parents introduced us. I got hurt, quite frankly.” Jongin laughs again at the image of six-year-old Kyungsoo with a bowl cut and wide, round eyes staring back at him flatly. “I had to make sure that you’d like me.”

 

“And your way of charming people is same old, same old.” Kyungsoo smiles at him. “Taking them exploring and prattling about why the red stuff on poinsettias are leaves and not flowers.”

 

“They’re called bracts, hyung,” Jongin says, grinning, and Kyungsoo pokes a tongue at him.

 

“Whatever. Don’t expect me to remember all your mumbo-jumbo forestry crap, Jongin-ah. I’m just a regular person that values the extra head-space.”

 

Jongin snickers on his hand and winks. “But hey, the important thing is that it worked for us the second time around.”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

 

“What if we remembered this whole time, you know?” Jongin says after a moment’s silence. He tucks his chin on Kyungsoo’s shoulder, and Kyungsoo leans in to his touch. “What if you recognized me immediately when we met on the docks? Would you have hated me? You know, for messing up your life?”

 

“You didn’t mess up anything,” Kyungsoo argues.

 

Jongin flashes him a wry smile and shrugs. “You’re not exactly normal, hyung, thanks to me. We’ve already agreed on that,” he says, placing gentle hands on Kyungsoo’s ears.

 

Kyungsoo sighs heavily. “I probably would have a hard time looking at you in the eye,” he confesses. “But I also would have opened up to you eventually. Or you would’ve force me to,” he adds the last part with a teasing lilt and Jongin, delighted, lands a wet kiss on his forehead. “The stuck-up, quiet kid would’ve never stood a chance against you.”

 

Jongin defends himself. “Minseok hyung said I’m just as shy as you are.”

 

“Yeah sure, but you’re very dangerous when you’re bored.”

 

“Yes, absolutely.” Jongin’s voice drops even lower as he starts nuzzling Kyungsoo’s neck. The older lets out a tiny, surprised whisper before rolling his eyes.

 

The waves start to lap higher, claiming more of the sand on the shore. Both Jongin’s and Kyungsoo’s jeans are folded up to taste the coolness of the water beneath their feet as soon as the full moon peeks out of the clouds.

 

“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” Jongin questions after Kyungsoo has finished the last of his s’mores. He notices Kyungsoo shiver almost imperceptibly, and he wriggles out of his own coat and puts it over him.

 

“For what?” Kyungsoo asks as soon as the shivers die down.

 

Jongin shrugs. “For your birthday.”

 

“I already got everything I wanted. I told you before.”

 

“Okay.” Jongin ducks his head.

 

“… Is there a problem?”

 

“Nothing. Just, you know. Thank you.”

 

“For what?”

 

Jongin blushes and scowls at him a little. “You’re really going a bit gung-ho on extracting everything from me, hyung.”

 

Kyungsoo laughs. “Just your feelings,” he says this with a wild grin that Jongin has never seen him wear before, and he gets a glimpse of that Kyungsoo who was reckless enough to take up Jongin’s offer to unravel the world with him years ago. “Minseok hyung and Yifan hyung told me that you never talk about yourself much. Even Sehunnie has noticed enough to agree, and he doesn’t seem to be the type to notice such things.”

 

Kyungsoo’s smile grows softer, the moonlight shining through his eyes. “I think I figured out now why people can’t help but like you, Jongin. When they talk to you, you’re quiet and patient, and you always listen. You never interrupt them to make it about yourself. It’s always, _always_ about them.”

 

Jongin frowns at him, then at the sea. “That’s… that’s because I genuinely care,” he mumbles, and he frowns even more when it comes out of his throat and tumbles on his lips sounding like an excuse.

 

“Well, yeah, I know that. You always tend to care about other people’s feelings too much.”

 

Jongin chuckles, encasing Kyungsoo’s body into a hug. “You make me sound like I’m a superhero.” And he remembers something again, remembers a young version of himself running around the yard with a blanket he took from his room wrapped around him like a cape. Kyungsoo had shushed him for being so noisy, and then walked over to him with a frown on his face. _‘You’re going to choke if you put this on too tight,’_ Kyungsoo told him quietly, loosening the blanket around his neck with his small hands, before smiling bright. _‘Now that’s better. Isn’t it, Jonginnie?’_ Young Jongin had only nodded in response, being rendered speechless and a bit blinded by that smile.

 

“Superheroes are great and all,” Kyungsoo replies. He wraps a delicate hand around Jongin’s neck. “But you’re important too.”

 

The water has crept higher, higher, until their toes touch the winter sea. Kyungsoo dips his fingers onto the water, and holds Jongin’s hands to do the same.

 

…

 

“And you carry it over like this?”

 

“Yeah,” Jongin tells her with a smile as he watches her plug in the numbers on her third-hand calculator. Joohyun is learning pretty fast. Maybe she won’t even ask Jongin to tutor her anymore, which makes him drop his smile for about a fraction. Jongin enjoys tutoring, especially Joohyun, who always seems to particularly pay attention when Jongin is explaining her things.

 

Joohyun encircles her answer with a pencil. She claps three times. “Thank god! That was a really hard question you gave me, oppa.”

 

“If it makes you feel any better, I gave you an extremely hard, college-level question,” Jongin says, winking. “That means you can handle anything Mrs. Kim will throw at you tomorrow.”

 

Joohyun pouts at him and slaps his arm gently with an enraged, _“You’re so mean!”_ , and Jongin laughs as he files the papers into a neat stack on the table.

 

Jongin grins at her, and Joohyun seems to look a bit dazed for a moment, before looking down and avoiding his eyes. “T-thank you, Jongin oppa,” she mutters. “I probably wouldn’t have gotten through junior year without you.”

 

“No problem.” Jongin rubs the back of his neck.

 

“You always seem passionate teaching me,” Joohyun says with a thoughtful look on her eyes. “You’re a far better teacher than Mrs. Kim.”

 

“Don’t let her hear you say that. She’s been teaching high school math in Gumseo for more than a decade now,” Jongin says, and chuckles.

 

“How come you’re so good at this, oppa? The world really isn’t fair. You’re so handsome and you’re smart too.” Joohyun juts her lower lip again, and Jongin thinks she’s so adorable that he ruffles her hair the way Joohyun likes.

 

“That’s because I really like this stuff,” Jongin tells her, pointing at the stack of solutions. “When I was in high school, I worked on math problems for fun. I know it’s a bit strange, but I like learning. It’s like discovering a new world.” He blushes and waves his hand. “Anyway, it’s like working hard on the things that you love, and the good grades will come after.”

 

Joohyun nods, smiling. “I understand now,” she says. “That makes you a thousand times handsomer, oppa. Kyungsoo-ssi is really lucky to have you.”

 

Jongin’s jaw slacks as he stares at her wide, and Joohyun laughs at him. “Mom told me that you’ve been going out with Minhyuk-ssi’s son. Everybody admires him for being brave and selfless to help the town. He’s really handsome too. A lot of the girls in my year have a crush on him. Even some of the boys like him, though they won’t admit it – you’d better watch out.”

 

“D-does everybody know?”

 

“Everybody knows, of course,” Joohyun says with a snicker. Her hair streams over her shoulder like a curtain as she laughs. She then looks at him with a tiny smile. “I was going to confess to you before, but then Mom and Dad started talking about you and Kyungsoo-ssi during dinner.” She then slaps Jongin on the shoulder. “Stop gaping at me like that, oppa! It’s not like you don’t know how I feel about you!”

 

“I –,” Jongin doesn’t know what to say. “Joohyun, I really –”

 

“Kyungsoo-ssi makes you really happy, doesn’t he?” Joohyun says, and it must only be Jongin’s overactive imagination acting up when he sees the rueful edge on Joohyun’s smile. “And you always look at him differently, like the way Dad looks at Mom sometimes.” She frowns. “I want to have someone like that too.”

 

Jongin tentatively pats her on the shoulder. “It’ll come,” he says. A pretty girl like Joohyun won’t have any trouble in that department, Jongin is sure. “There’re bound to be boys who are going to woo you off your feet. You probably won’t have to wait long.”

 

“I’m not getting any younger,” Joohyun sighs, like being eighteen is already thirty-three, and Jongin laughs loud. “I feel so unloved. I want to have a boyfriend now.”

 

Jongin shakes his head. “You don’t need a boyfriend to feel loved. But if you’re looking for someone, Hyunsik seems interested.” Jongin had watched Hyunsik, a junior just like her, fumble over the awkward stages of teenage admiration when Joohyun walked past him on the public market one day, dropping his jug of sugar cane wine when Joohyun greeted him a _‘good morning’_ with a smile.

 

“It’ll take some time for me to get over you, oppa,” Joohyun says softly. Jongin shuffles on his seat, and Joohyun promptly laughs at him. “But don’t worry! I won’t steal you away from Kyungsoo-ssi. As thanks for offering to tutor me for free.”

 

Jongin slowly regains his composure as Joohyun changes the subject by complaining about her second worst subject (Science), and Jongin feels comfortable enough to make her change her mind.

 

…

 

Kyungsoo laughs. “You have a bit of something on your nose.”

 

“What?”

 

“Here,” Kyungsoo says, wiping the dirt off the tip of Jongin’s nose with his handkerchief. He shows him the big dot of soot on the cloth, and Jongin makes a face.

 

“We were cleaning the fireplace this morning,” he explains. He puts back the squiggling silkworms back to their winnowing baskets as soon as he examines them. It seems that only a few of them are ready to spin their cocoons as of the moment. “I bet that’s why Sehun kept on grinning at me stupidly the whole day. That kid is so mean.”

 

Kyungsoo shrugs nonchalantly. “I think it looked cute.”

 

Jongin blinks. “Say that again, will you?”

 

Kyungsoo snorts and ignores him. He crouches forward and strains his arm to reach out for the half-empty sack of mulberry leaves when something silver and shiny and familiar catches Jongin’s eye.

 

He grabs Kyungsoo’s wrist, and his breath gets knocked out of him in an instant, when he realizes what he’s seeing on Kyungsoo’s ring finger. Jongin licks his lips before turning to him with wild eyes. “Where did you get this?” He gulps.

 

Kyungsoo blushes fiercely. He puts his head down, away from Jongin’s too intense stare. “You put it in your coat pocket,” he mumbles, and it takes a while for Jongin to realize that Kyungsoo still hasn’t returned him his coat since their trip. “I thought…I thought you gave it for me to find.”

 

Kyungsoo looks up to him unsurely when Jongin’s brain still can’t find the right words. His eyes are wide and his other hand is starting to remove the ring on his finger. “I’m sorry – I didn’t know you –”

 

“No!” Jongin exclaims, and his hand flies to Kyungsoo’s wrist. “I-I m-mean…” Jongin he feels like he’s back in high school again and closes his eyes in frustration. “I’m just embarrassed. That was supposed to be your Christmas present, and then – and then you told me you didn’t want anything for birthday – you said you were going to rip me in half if I ever gave you anything.”

 

Kyungsoo glowers at him weakly. “Stupid,” he says quietly. “You’re so stupid. I really meant it when I said I didn’t want a present.”

 

Jongin stares at the ring on Kyungsoo’s finger, then to Kyungsoo’s heated cheeks, and back to his finger again. He feels a surge of pleasure and warmth hit him like a train – Kyungsoo is saying _yes_ , to _him_ of all people, Jongin thinks through state of high – and he’s about to break into a grin when he realizes something again.

 

“Did you read it?” Jongin questions, his blood turning cold. “There was a note –”

 

Kyungsoo nods meekly, blushing hard again, and Jongin groans out loud, remembering all the humiliatingly sappy words he’d written in that letter.

 

“Why am I so embarrassing?” Jongin says in dismay, and Kyungsoo slowly breaks into fits of chuckles as Jongin rolls over the dirt, putting his face in his hands to hide from his boyfriend in shame.

 

…

 

 

Jongin spots Seulgi before Seulgi can spot him. He waves his hand high to grab her attention, and Seulgi walks to him with a sweet, familiar grin spreading on her face.

 

“You’ve grown so tall,” is Seulgi’s first comment when they’re only half a feet apart. Jongin offers to carry her suitcase to the jeep. “Mom should’ve warned me about how handsome you’ve gotten.”

 

Jongin chuckles as he wheels her suitcase even though he feels flustered. Seulgi is always quick to compliment him, ever since they became classmates in high school. Jongin had mistaken the weird stirring in his stomach whenever Seulgi noticed him as love. “You look good too, Seulgi. How was law school?”

 

“Awful,” Seulgi says with a pout. “Everybody is so smart that I feel like I’m eating dust whenever exam results are released.”

 

Jongin laughs. He loads the luggage and helps her up. “I’m sure it’s the other way around, and it is highly unlikely that something like that would stop you from crushing those crooked-nosed city pricks under your heels.”

 

Seulgi grins at him. “I almost forgot how colorful your vocabulary is,” she says, and chuckles. She adjusts the shirt peeking out of her cotton sweater. Seulgi always liked wearing sweaters with cartoon prints on them. They wore uniforms back in high school, and Jongin had only noticed this when they went out on dates around town.

 

Jongin throws the jeep in reverse. The ride back to Daljong-myeon is quiet but comfortable. Seulgi seems to be surprised at the changes, both big and small, like the colorful banners for the Silk festival that haven’t been taken out yet and the unusual amount of backpackers strolling around this February. Jongin gives her time to take it in.

 

“Wow,” is all Seulgi says after a moment, and it makes Jongin chuckle under his breath. He gets that a lot from tourists. Jongin thinks he’s not going to get tired of hearing that anytime soon, feeling some sort of pride swelling in his chest.

 

“Now I’m really curious about Do Minhyuk’s son,” Seulgi tells him a beat after. “You’d better introduce me to him tomorrow.”

 

“That’s great. Kyungsoo’s actually free tomorrow,” Jongin says as he makes a left. He slows down to lessen the impact of the rocky terrain on the tires. Kyungsoo had been busy with a couple of traders coming over to the manor, and Jongin felt a little uncomfortable watching Kyungsoo handle everything on his own. He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. “You’re going to like him, Seulgi.”

 

“I’m sure I will,” she says with a knowing glint in her eye, and Jongin instinctively flushes.

 

They arrive at the center of the town. Some of the people greet them as they ride past, waving enthusiastically especially at Seulgi who they haven’t seen for a long time.

 

“You know, you’ve never told me why you took law,” Jongin says when they’re near Seulgi’s home. “I always thought you were going to stay and help your parents run the poultry business. That’s what you said you were going to do back in high school.”

 

Seulgi turns her head to look at the clouds. They are white and puffy, thick enough to block the sun’s rays. It takes her a minute to answer, enough that Jongin thinks she hasn’t heard him speak over the roar of the engine. “Growing up, I really wanted to be a lawyer. A public defender or maybe a prosecutor. I kept it a secret to myself until the first week of senior year started and then I told my parents what I wanted to do.”

 

Jongin frowns. “Why did you keep it a secret? Wanting to become a lawyer is something really admirable.”

 

“Everybody expected me to take over the business one day, no matter how small it was,” Seulgi says with a light laugh. She smiles at the sky. “I made sure it was what I wanted before I told anyone. It’s great that my parents agreed. We didn’t have that much money, and my dad had to sell some of our chickens for law school, but I’m glad that it all turned right in the end.”

 

“I hope you won’t forget us after you become this hot lawyer chick in the city.”

 

“And what about you?” Seulgi laughs. “I’m surprised you’re still here, Mr. Scientist. You’ve always talked big about how the city is always calling for you.”

 

Jongin’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. He shrugs, but it comes out as a wince. “Well, Daljong-myeon called a bit louder.”

 

Seulgi nods, understanding. “You know, during senior year, I thought that was the case for me too,” she says. “But then Mom said something really interesting.”

 

The jeep slows and winds to a stop. Jongin pulls up the handbrake. “What?”

 

“She said that she would be glad if I chose something I wanted,” Seulgi replies solemnly. She puts her hand on Jongin’s free wrist and squeezes it, and he feels like his heart is being squeezed too. “She told me that there are not a lot of people who are brave enough to go after their dreams.”

 

Jongin swallows hard as Seulgi’s eyes pierce through his soul.

 

“That was the first time I wanted someone to feel proud of me,” Seulgi says, and she gives his wrist one last squeeze before letting go. “I’m sorry if I never said anything. About law school. I’m sorry if you felt betrayed, Jongin.”

 

“I didn’t –,” Jongin starts, but it dies when she arches a delicate eyebrow at him. 

 

“I left Daljong-myeon, but that doesn’t mean I’ll never look back,” Seulgi says with finality. “I just wanted to be someone special to myself, to my family.” She laughs. “I remember my dad telling me how great it would be to have a lawyer in the family. He was hugging me so hard at the docks that I thought my back would break. My leaving probably took a toll on him more than it did with Mom, but I know he’s happy for me all the same.”

 

Jongin tries to say something, but only manages to gape at her like a fish out of water. Seulgi smiles sweetly, like she always does whenever Jongin is acting like an idiot, and pats him on the shoulder reassuringly. He stares at her back as she gets off until the slam of the door breaks him out of his trance.

 

“Let me help you with your things,” he mumbles as he pulls the handle on her suitcase, and he hears Seulgi let out a ghostly chuckle behind him.

 

…

 

It’s the third week of February. Jongin notices for the first time the faint trail of grass that is starting to cling onto the soil around the ditch. The dandelions were already growing too when they first entered the path, and Jongin shouldn’t be surprised at the new spurts of outgrowth all over the forest floor, but he still is.

 

He looks back at Kyungsoo and at the absence of the sad pucker in his eyes. Time really runs fast, he realizes.

 

The whole world seems to race towards something, while Jongin is still rooted on his spot. He puts a hand on Kyungsoo’s lap, and it seems that, for the first time in three years, he feels that the world pauses its spinning for a moment to let him catch up.

 

“I think – I think I want to go,” Jongin says when Kyungsoo looks at him. His breath hitches when Kyungsoo’s eyes slowly widen, as Jongin’s words finally register in his mind. “I want to go to college again.”

 

He instantly gets under the heat of Kyungsoo’s stare, his face unnervingly unmoving, until his mouth quirks into a grin. “That took you a while to figure out,” he says, and it sounds victorious and sad at the same time.

 

Jongin frowns deeply. “You can always tell me not to go,” he says, half-hopeful.

 

Kyungsoo laughs unsteadily. “You’re twenty-five. You’re old enough to make decisions for yourself.”

 

Jongin’s heart breaks a little inside. “You think I don’t know that?” he grumbles. He hears a voice from the forest again, yelling _‘Don’t leave me, Jongin!’,_ and tries his best to ignore it.

 

Kyungsoo gives him a look. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says. “Did you even hear anything I told you in the past month? Of course I want you to go.”

 

“I thought you would be disappointed –”

 

Kyungsoo’s loud snort interrupts him. “Not disappointed. You’re making the right choice, Jongin,” he says, and then his expression morphs into something Jongin can’t quite fully understand. “I’m really happy for you. Don’t make yourself think I’m feeling otherwise.”

 

Jongin’s lips pull themselves to form a thin line. He blinks back a growing sting in his eyes. “That’s it?” he says angrily, and his almost possessive grip on Kyungsoo’s thigh tightens. “You’re just going to let me go? That’s how easy it is for you?”

 

He watches Kyungsoo swallow before looking back to him. Kyungsoo’s eyes are wet and shining but with a soft smile in place. Jongin feels guilt rack him internally as his tear ducts begin to well-up in response.

 

Kyungsoo shrugs. “It’s about time you do something for yourself, Nature Boy,” he says, voice unnaturally wobbly. Jongin drops his forehead on Kyungsoo’s shoulder and sobs. Kyungsoo’s hand flies to Jongin’s back, his fingers trailing across his spine, leaving a burn that is equally as horrible as watching Kyungsoo hold back his own tears, and it makes Jongin cry a bit more.

 

“I’ll keep the whole thing afloat until you get back, I promise,” Kyungsoo says, sniffling. “I’m really, really happy for you, okay?”

 

Jongin nods on his skin, wetting Kyungsoo’s shirt even more. “I’ll miss you,” he croaks.

 

“I already miss you, and you’re still here,” Kyungsoo laughs, and Jongin feels something wet drop on his scalp.

 

“I promise to call you every single day,” Jongin swears. “I’m going to make sure you’ll fucking miss me, hyung.”

 

“Well, I think I’d get sick of your voice rather than miss you if you’d keep on calling me, but please do. I’ll even pay for the phone service,” Kyungsoo says, and Jongin chokes at the laugh that goes stuck on his throat.

 

Jongin kisses him deeply. “Are you proud of me?” he asks, and he doesn’t care that he sounds like a child wanting to be praised, because Kyungsoo’s answering heart-shape smile is worth it.

 

“I will be if you bring me back one of those toilet seats from Japan,” Kyungsoo teases as a tear finally rolls down from his eyes. Jongin laughs so hard that his chest hurts, and he starts squeezing and hugging Kyungsoo’s upper body just as hard as his heart is pounding against his ribs. “I’ll ask Zitao to send a good word for you. Maybe you can skip freshman year and go straight to being a senior.”

 

Jongin raises an incredulous eyebrow at him. “That’s cheating, hyung.”

 

Kyungsoo shrugs. “What? You really want to go back to being a first year again?” And Jongin chuckles as he tells him no, kissing the sad lump on Kyungsoo’s throat away.

 

They spend a few hours holding each other in front of Gibo’s ruins and start heading back when the sun has left the sky. On the way, Kyungsoo tells him that he still hears the voices but that they’re quieter now, and not as demanding as they once had been when he first got back. Jongin whines about how he’s turning useless all of a sudden, and Kyungsoo smacks him on the back of his head even as he squeezes his hand.

 

Jongin tells the others the next day over eight rounds of beer (no surprise). His friends share knowing glances over their mugs, like they’ve always known this was coming.

 

“Wow. Kyungsoo really is scary,” Yifan says with a grin. His face is red with the alcohol. “I knew you really didn’t stand a chance against him.”

 

Jongin sighs. “Please don’t tell me…”

 

Sehun elbows him. “Told you he’s the one who wants you to be happy the most,” he says, and the rest of the gang nod in agreement.

 

“I thought nobody knew about it.” Jongin growls. He takes another swig in chagrin.

 

Minseok is sober enough to roll his eyes without giving himself vertigo. “Blame yourself for being such a slob. Your letter from Japan was lying around everywhere,” he quips. “You really didn’t think you could hide such a big secret from your friends, did you? And not know the reason behind it?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Jongin whispers, and it’s ridiculous, how he’s breaking into another crying spell again. He thought he’d already squeezed himself dry back in Dai in Kyungsoo’s arms, but here he is, letting snot dribble all over his arm as everybody in Kkobang looks at him. Shinyoung is over at the next table tending to a different customer, and her usual bright expression is morphed into that of concern. Buryeong beer is really strong, he thinks.

 

Minseok sighs, before saying, “We should be the ones who are sorry. We – we never thought about how lonely you were in the city. We thought you would be too busy, too happy, and too preoccupied with… anyway, we promise to keep in touch. Sehunnie is teaching me how to get my dad’s ancient phone working and –” He inhales. “We really missed you, Jongin. We didn’t mean to worry you.”

 

“Ugh. Goddammit, Kyungsoo.” Jongin groans as he hides his face in his hands. “Why the hell does everybody talk about me behind my back?”

 

Minseok, Yifan, and Sehun laugh so loud that it scares the sadness away just for the night.

 

They clink their glasses and toast for the days to come.

 

…

 

“Shit,” Jongin says as he scrolls past half a dozen of people on the hallway. “Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit –”

 

“Hello to you too,” Kyungsoo interrupts, his voice cackling through the static. “I starkly remember having a conversation with you that ended only fifteen minutes ago.”

 

The phone bill is going to practically implode on their faces, Jongin thinks, but he can’t really make himself care as of the moment.

 

“Hyung!” he rasps at his phone in urgency. He knocks against a small girl carrying a chemistry book that is probably heavier than her, and he bows and mutters a quick apology before walking again. “It’s _him_ again. He’s following me around!”

 

“You’re being ridiculous. Maybe he just wants to be your friend.”

 

“He looks at me weird,” Jongin tells him. “It’s not a _‘hey-man-I-want-to-be-your-friend-let’s-hang-out’_ look.”

 

A pause. “Should I be jealous?”

 

“What – no! I don’t even like him! I’m asking you to tell me what to do! Make him go away!”

 

“I’m not going to hold your dick all the way up there in Seoul, Jongin,” the older says dryly, and it will never cease to amaze Jongin how the phone lines can still manage to translate every drip of mockery in Kyungsoo’s voice. It feels like he’s walking there with him, looking so done and unamused with him. It makes Jongin feel like he’s back home again. “Just tell him to scram and mind his own business.”

 

Jongin scrunches his nose, shutting down the suggestion immediately in his head. But then he sees a messy mop of dark brown hair and gangly limbs heading to the Science faculty, and Jongin curses. There goes his last chance to seek Zitao’s office for shelter.

 

Huang Zitao, Jongin thinks, is the biggest living paradox he’s ever met in his life. The Chinese guy has a million of piercings in his ears, one in his tongue, and even one in his _belly button_ , but his voice is amazingly squeaky and unmanly whenever he speaks Korean. Kyungsoo was right that despite his scary appearance and unflattering accent, Zitao is really nice, pleasant, and smart. He’s been helping Jongin finally get his head around learning his star map. He also gets to learn a few Chinese words too, like _‘happy birthday’_ and unsavory swear words.

 

“Park Chanyeol is _crazy_ , hyung,” Jongin complains. “He says he’s my biggest fan. He tails me at lunch. He even says he likes my handwriting, hyung, _fuck_ , you know how atrocious my handwriting is! I don’t know what to do with him!”

 

Kyungsoo sighs. “And I know how you like your men crazy.” And Jongin can see him eye-rolling in his head. “You’re almost six foot tall and you wear your hair like a porn star. Act like any reasonable adult and just go and say hi. Who knows, maybe Chanyeol-ssi will pee on his pants and he’ll be too embarrassed to even look at you anymore.”

 

“Do you think that would work?”

 

Kyungsoo snorts. “Seriously, though. Haven’t you had enough experience with girls pining over you back in high school?”

 

Jongin groans. “They always got the message the first time. This guy is too dumb.”

 

“I thought he was your seatmate in Microbiology honors class.”

 

Jongin doesn’t even want to think about the way Chanyeol just breezes through their shared classes, and he absolutely hatesthe fact that his brain just automatically sizes the boy up, like he’s taking out all the big guns for an academic rivalry much fiercer than he had with Seulgi. Jongin has never felt so competitive in his life, and it’s both exhilarating and upsetting for his stomach. “Take my word for it, Kyungsoo,” Jongin says. “Park Chanyeol is stupid.”

 

“If you say so,” Kyungsoo replies lightly, and he’s laughing now. Jongin can’t believe that he’s laughing.

 

“Why are you laughing?” Jongin runs a hand through his hair, in full distressed-mode now, and ducks behind an instructor as Chanyeol almost spots him on the intersection to the laboratory classrooms.  The woman looks at him strangely, but shrugs and continues chatting with her friend.

 

“I don’t know, Jongin,” Kyungsoo answers when he stops wheezing, and the way he says his name makes Jongin’s breath clog his throat for a while. “This is really strange.”

 

He has to agree. The pitiful jumping of his heart in his chest is something Jongin can’t understand. He’ll probably never understand it even if he goes to graduate school this fall. “I miss you,” Jongin says, hoping a part of his longing heart gets sent to Kyungsoo through the line. That’s all he knows and understands about this, after all. “I really wish you’re here with me.”

 

“You call me almost every minute,” Kyungsoo reminds him with a pleased hum. “And you tell me all the shit that’s happening. I think this is the closest we can be, given the situation. I can’t even get myself to feel jealous over this stalker you keep telling me about.” He sighs, and Jongin sighs too, thinking about how nice Kyungsoo’s heated breath would feel fanning over his face.

 

Kyungsoo might think that Jongin gets a kick out of calling him on whim, but it’s really more than that, and it’s a feeling Jongin thinks the phone lines will never be able to translate for him. Kyungsoo is all the things he never thought he’d get to have all rolled into one person, and Jongin can’t get over how strange it all is, how strange the world works.

 

“I feel calmer when I hear your voice,” is what Jongin says earnestly instead. He chews on his lip when Kyungsoo goes silent. “I think I warned you about me getting clingier every day, right?”

 

He finally hears a chuckle. “I remember,” Kyungsoo says smoothly. “I… I really miss you too. And I think I’ve already told you this before, but don’t – don’t hesitate to call. Alright? I know how lonely it gets up there sometimes.”

 

“Still, though,” Jongin drops his voice to a whisper. “I miss you. I miss everyone. After finals, I’m going to fly back there immediately, and I expect a massive welcoming committee and rose petals on the road when I get back.”

 

“I’ll have everyone carry a big bucket of fried chicken in your honor, if you want.”

 

“Good,” he says. He pictures Kyungsoo fighting back a smile, and it makes him smile on his phone too. “And hyung?”

 

“Yes?”

 

Jongin grins, and the female instructor’s expression is torn between looking curious and creeped out. “I love you,” Jongin says.

 

It takes a while, but Jongin hears the familiar splutter of words, and it makes him laugh though his face is in danger of setting off the fire alarms.

 

Kyungsoo makes a gurgling noise on the other end of the line. “I –”

 

“Oh no you don’t,” Jongin practically sing-songs. “You can’t say them to me right now. I have to hear you say it in person, or I’ll have to drop everything right now and book a flight home. I’ll fuck you good as soon as I see you instead of staying here and taking my exams, so don’t tell me anything yet.”

 

The instructor is creeped out, definitely. Jongin can tell now.

 

“What makes you think I was going to say anything?” Kyungsoo growls at him in rough defiance. “Sending you to college must be a mistake. Your brain is turning into mush.”

 

“Your threats are so empty right now, hyung. Is my Kyungsoo getting flustered?”

 

“Shut up,” Kyungsoo grumbles. “You’re just as fucking cheesy as you are in your letters.”

 

A huge part of his brain is too busy capitalizing on his ruffled boyfriend and his adorable promises of disembowelment that Jongin doesn’t feel as self-conscious as he initially thought he would. The emotion will probably catch up to him later when he’s alone in his room, and he wonders how many giddy punches his poor pillow will receive tonight. He remembers hitting the one back home seventy-three times when he wrote those three wordsat the end of the very first letter he gave to Kyungsoo.

 

“I have to go now. I love you, hyung,” Jongin tells him again, and he ends the call before Kyungsoo can say something back.

 

…

 

A few minutes later, he sees Chanyeol again, and this time, the giant definitely spots him. He’s waving, flapping his arms with candor-like girth, and Jongin frantically fishes for his phone and dials Kyungsoo’s number.

 

…

 


	4. Epilogue

…

 

**[Epilogue]**

 

…

 

“Where are we again?”

 

Kyungsoo is struggling to read the pamphlet. Speaking the language had been easier than he initially thought, but he’s almost surprised when the Japanese characters don’t leap at him instantly as he expected they would. He never had this much trouble with Zitao and his Mandarin.

 

“We’re heading to Kotoku-in temple,” Jongin explains. When they stop at a junction, he tells Kyungsoo to look at his left while crossing the road, instead of on his right, since the traffic flow is different in the streets of Japan. It seems that the written language is not the only thing that’s complicated about this country, Kyungsoo thinks.

 

He finally zeroes in on their location at the map, and also finds more about the tourist area. “Why are you taking me to see another Buddha statue?” he says in confusion. “It’ll probably look the same as the one we have back home.”

 

Jongin grins at him sloppily. “It’s bigger,” he says like size is all the difference that matters, and Kyungsoo only manages a shrug. He gave up hope on trying to understand Jongin’s fixation on religious relics that are as tall as three giraffes stacked together like Jenga blocks.

 

They go all the way uphill. Kyungsoo gets a bit winded as they trek, his cheeks turning apple red, and they manage to squeeze in between the thickening crowd almost blocking the main gates. There’s a group of middle-schoolers in front of them in the line, and Jongin’s grin is just as wide as theirs. Kyungsoo hides an amused snicker with the back of his gloved hand.

 

The line moves until they finally arrive at the small ticketing booth. Jongin takes out four hundred and forty yen from his coat pocket and a man with a pockmark clears them for entrance.

 

They pass the visitor center, and the huge display makes Kyungsoo stop in his tracks. “Are those…?”

 

“Yep.” Jongin laughs easily. “Those are his slippers.”

 

Kyungsoo licks his lips, convincing himself that he’s seen weirder things than gigantic slippers made out of intricately woven twine being hung on a shrine.

 

“Forget sightseeing. Let’s conquer the whole world, hyung,” he remembers Jongin saying yesterday over pancakes and eggs, like it was the most normal thing to say at breakfast. He’d also said that he’s one semester away from finishing grad school, and that he and his friend Chanyeol would be conducting their first wildlife research at home. In Korea. In Daljong-myeon.

 

At important times like that, Kyungsoo couldn’t think of anything to say, so he only nodded and responded with, “Umm, which part of the world would you want to conquer first?”

 

Jongin had grinned and taken him to the nearest public bathroom. Kyungsoo finally saw with his own eyes the infamous bidet toilets, which sprays a jet of water to people’s anuses with a push of a button. They probably would have flooded the whole restroom if a janitor hadn’t caught them making out on a foreign toilet seat.

 

They walk under the cherry blossoms in bloom, and Kyungsoo finally gets a full glimpse of the Amita statue. It’s really bigger than the one they have back home, but Jongin informs him that it’s only the second largest in Japan.

 

“The largest is in Nihon-ji,” Jongin says, and Kyungsoo can tell how many subways they’ll have to take to go there from Kamakura city.

 

“Well, it’s definitely big,” Kyungsoo remarks wryly, craning his neck upwards. From his peripheral vision, he sees Jongin looking at him openly, but Kyungsoo pretends not to notice. “And green. It’s very green.”

 

“It’s made out of bronze. Bronze turns green when it rusts.”

 

Kyungsoo smirks at him. “That at least I know about,” he says, and Jongin laughs.

 

The younger tugs at his wrist a half-beat later, and Kyungsoo throws him a look. Jongin pouts at him when he doesn’t budge. “I paid an extra forty yen just so we could see inside the statue. There’s nothing but graffiti inside, but there’s a great view when you look through the windows at the back of the Amita’s head. How about if we mark out territory there?”

 

The excitement in his voice proves too much for Kyungsoo, and he openly laughs this time, his cheeks heating up as he catches his breath. He remembers how utterly surprised Jongin had been when Kyungsoo suddenly rang the doorbell to his apartment. _“I guess I’ll have to look for another tour guide to show me around Japan,”_ Kyungsoo had said, looking smug at the slack-jawed Jongin, before the younger had yanked him inside and kissed him senseless. 

 

A strong gust comes and makes the soft, pink petals cascade through the air like ships sailing home through a tranquil sea. There’s that look again in Jongin’s eyes that makes Kyungsoo’s legs turn into jelly and makes him fall a bit deeper.

 

“Okay, okay,” Kyungsoo says, and there’s only one voice he hears in his head when Jongin breaks into a grin. He’ll say the words to Jongin later, when they’re up there looking at the rest of the world. “Let’s go.”

 

 

...

**Author's Note:**

> *Shooting winks and hearteus @ SMEnt to finally give our grumpy elf his much-deserved backpacking holiday (preferably with hunky nature guy in tow)*
> 
> This fic is dedicated to everyone, and I wish you good folks a whole lot of happiness in the future! Special shout-out to my sister for those hours of talking about our favorite things about our hometown. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I’m really glad you made it through that mess *sobs a fountain* I hope you’d tell me what you think. Constructive criticism is also much, much welcomed and appreciated!


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